


Coming back to Life

by ReaperDuckling



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Canon Autistic Character, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Jamison has adhd and you can tear that headcanon out of my cold dead hands, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Other, Pining, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, bisexual Satya, demiromantic Jamison, morosexual Satya, so much pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2020-07-27 21:49:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20053069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaperDuckling/pseuds/ReaperDuckling
Summary: Jamison hears of Satya long before he has the (dis)pleasure of meeting her.Once it’s announced that some new sheila is preparing to move into the old run down farmhouse, it’s all people seem to talk about for weeks. And though Jamie usually doesn’t really do conversation in this town, it’s hard to escape his gossipy coworkers at Caledonia Corp., and even harder to evade Mako and Zenyatta once they start discussing it by the dinner table.Apparently she’s some big-shot-corporate-type, and the granddaughter of the previous farmer. Jamison never met the guy though, he didn’t live here while he was still kicking, so while the others speculate over her intentions, her age and her similarities with the old farmer, Jamie really, honestly, couldn’t care less.In the end, she’ll just be another person for him to ignore.





	1. Waiting for the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Beta:d by the ever so wonderful falloutboiruto <3 
> 
> This fanfic is heavily inspired by the game Stardew: Valley, but it took such a life of its own during planning that I don't have the guts to call it a crossover anymore.  
Anyway, if you're interested in knowing which "roll" the Overwatch characters have taken in the Stardew Universe, you'll find a link to a complete list in the notes below. :) (BEWARE THOUGH! There might be some minor spoilers!)

Jamison hears of Satya long before he has the (dis)pleasure of meeting her. 

Once it’s announced that some new sheila is preparing to move into the old run down farmhouse, it’s all people seem to talk about for _ weeks _ . And though Jamie usually doesn’t really _ do _conversation in this town, it’s hard to escape his gossipy coworkers at Caledonia Corp., and even harder to evade Mako and Zenyatta once they start discussing it by the dinner table. 

Apparently she’s some big-shot-corporate-type, and the granddaughter of the previous farmer. Jamison never met the guy though, he didn’t live here while he was still kicking, so while the others speculate over her intentions, her age and her similarities with the old farmer, Jamie really, honestly, couldn’t care less. 

In the end, she’ll just be another person for him to ignore. 

Once she’s arrived, however, it sort of… irks him. How easily she seem to blend in with the Stardew crowd. 

Apparently, she made cookies, some indian sort called nankha-whatever, and went around the neighborhood introducing herself to folks on her first day. What kind of person even _ does _that?! Of course, she never made it all the way to Mako’s farm, or even to Caledonia Corps., so Jamison never got to try any, which is what he choose to blame the grinding, bitter feeling in his guts on. 

He see her around town sometimes, all prim and proper and pretty, chatting it up with the Oxton’s, or Torbjörn or that prick Hanzo, or just… walking around, buying seeds or graph paper or whatever it is that a farmer/business-type-mongrel even needs living in a place like this, and even the way she moves pisses him off. Like she’s _ better _than him. 

He never says hello, and she never bothers to even try approaching him, which only rubs salt into the wound because apparently she’s met everyone else, what sets him apart?! 

Mako says that it’s the glaring and ask him to stop hyperfixating on her, but Jaime reckons that Mako should, first of all, shove it and that she’s, second of all, just a prick. 

But Stardew is a small place, so even though they both put an admirable amount of effort into not meeting each other, their eventual encounter is inevitable. 

It happens on a shamelessly warm day in march, circa two weeks after her immigration. 

It’s Jamison’s day off, Mako is too busy with work and Zen is too busy being a dag to pay attention to him, so after practically climbing the walls of his room from restlessness, he’s decided to spend the arvo’ out in the woods. 

Alone. 

With a bottle of fireball whiskey.

And a bunch of homemade fireworks. 

Besides tripping over a bunch of logs on the account of his peg leg, what could possibly go wrong? 

He’s been working on these particular beauts’ on his downtime for almost a month now, experimenting with some new chemicals that he ordered online that, hopefully, will set the _ sky _alight with orange flames and not, like last time… the trees. 

Jaime giggles nervously, thinking about how everyone had cracked their shits about that one, especially Mako, before violently forcing the unwelcome thought aside with a spicy mouthful of whisky. 

But before he moves on to the main course, he figure that he’ll play with some of the smaller crackers first. 

He pulls out and lights a sparkler, enjoying the way it sizzles against his fingers, almost close enough to burn. He pulls out another one, and then another, and then the whole package, daring himself to hold them with his biological hand, closer and closer to the flame each time. 

Jamison is so entranced with this project that it takes him a while to realize that there are voices coming towards him. 

Startled, he grabs his things and throw himself to the ground, hiding behind a large, mossy boulder in the pile of burnt up sparklers. 

There’s… two voices. One female and one male, and he’ll be damned if he wouldn’t recognize that ** _prick _ ** anywhere, mr I’m-too-good-for-pyrotechnics Hanzo Shimada, what is he even _ doing _here? Jaime had always figured that the woods were too dirty for him, what if he gets mud under his stupid pretty nails or cobweb all over his stupid pretty face?

He peeks out from behind his hiding spot, and yup, there he is, mr high-and-oh-so-mighty in the very flesh and he does look… somewhat inconvenienced, actually, now that Jamie is getting a good look at him. He’s flustered and a little sweaty, moving like he’s afraid to actually touch anything around him, making Jamison snicker quietly to himself. 

What a drongo. 

Hanzo is smiling though, and even if it’s troubled, it’s undeniably warm and gentle, making Jamison scout the area for… oh. Of bloody course. 

It’s her. 

Satya Vaswani. 

The current bane of his existence. 

She’s looking a bit out of place as well, just as prim and proper and pretty as Hanzo, with her long dark hair in a high ponytail that only has a couple of sticks tangled in it, and dressed in… are those yoga pants? 

He looks back to Hanzo real quick, realise that he’s also dressed for exercise, and then quickly back at Satya again, puzzling the situation together. 

They stay in the clearing before him, right where he was planning to set off his private firework show, and begin to stretch. 

Damn city slickers with their trendy exercise regimes and their tight pants and their-fffffUCK me dead she just bent over, arse towards him and she… he… that… 

He throws himself down in the moss again, wide eyes, heart pounding. 

That… he swallows another large mouthful of whisky, trying to collect himself. That was the most glorious ass he’s ever seen in his life. All of this time that he’s spent glaring at her… how did he manage to miss _ that _?! 

He listen to them talk in infuriatingly soft, infuriatingly collected voices.   
The Vaswani chick with the banging arse seem to be instructing Hanzo about something… Jaime makes an attempt to listen, but gets way too bored way too quickly to really give a shit. Something about breathing and balance and yada yada yada… 

Then, an idea strikes him! 

What iiiif he were to, saaay… sabotage their little… date? Or whatever it is that they’re doing... with a little magic of his own! Serves them right for interrupting him on his day off… 

He pull out the biggest, baddest firework piece in his collection, and align it so that it will explode right above them once he light the fuse. He sneaks a peak. They haven’t discovered him yet. 

Trying to muffle a fit of hysterical giggles, he pulls out the lighter. Lighting the fuse turns out to be a bit of a challenge though when you have 1) naturally shaky hands, and you’re 2) wobbly with laughter, as well as 3) really drunk, but! Eventually! He manage. 

Jamison leans back, studying the little flame as it traverse its way up the thread. He envision the incoming chaos, and this time he can’t keep it in any more: he’s laughing as loud as he can, mad and wild and free. 

Hopefully, the flames will only reach the sky this time. And, maybe, possibly, if he’s allowed to dream just a little, it will catch in Hanzo’s hair. 

He’s so captivated by the flame and the daydream and the sound of his own laughter, that he doesn’t recognize the vibration of heavy footsteps until its far, far too late. 

“No... you... _ don’t _!” 

Before the firework has had the chance to go off, it, the flame and Jamie are all crushed under a very familiar weight. 

Darkness surrounds them. 

He never imagined that this would be how he died. He’d always envisioned something more… explodey. 

But then the weight leaves him, and he’s manhandled up onto his feet by none other than his jolly old grunkle Rutledge. Who is, currently, staring him down with a rotten look on his face. 

“you _ idiot, _” he breathes, weezing heavy from the jog through the forest. 

“oy, ‘ow did ya find me, mate?” Jamison ask, genuinely perplexed. 

Mako shake him around a little. 

“heard you laughing… all the way home… you _ shit _.” 

“and you ran all this way? Impressive!” 

He just shake him some more. 

Once the world has stopped spinning so much, Jaime take a look around himself and… oh. There’s Hanzo and Vaswani. Staring at him. 

And Hanzo is looking… real mad. Yikes. 

“You buffoon! What were you even planning to do with _ that _?!” He gestures towards the fireworks. “You could have hurt us. Or burnt down the whole forest! Again!” 

“Well I _ was _ aiming for yer head- I mean - _ Oy _, piss off! I was just ‘aving some fun, ya big galah! was just gon’ scare you, is all. A prank. And I had it under control!” 

“Under… under control?!” There’s a vein throbbing dangerously in Hanzo’s forehead. It looks like it might burst. 

“Yeah so… no drama.” 

“No… Drama?!” 

“Hey,” Mako shake him around again. That’s starting to get real old, real fast. “Apologize.” 

“Ffffffffine.” He pulls himself free, then turn to Hanzo. 

“‘m sorry.” 

“Apology not accepted.” 

“Like I give a-” 

“Jamison!” 

“Fine he’s just being a-! Fine, fine, fine…” he turn to Vaswani. 

She looks… slightly rattled, but not half as much as he would have liked her to be. She’s got her stupid, pretty nose all scrunched up, like she’s disgusted by him, and he’s tempted to point out that there’s a spider in her hair, just to see if it will give her a spook. 

But, he doesn’t. 

Instead, he sighs, deep and heavy. 

“‘m sorry.” 

She gives him one more, appraising look, before responding with a slight… wobble? Of her head. 

Jamie isn’t sure what to make of that, but decide to let it slide. 

“‘m a… I’m Jamison, by the way…” he try for a smile, then reach out his biological hand for her to shake. “and ye must be Satya. G’day.” 

She looks at the hand, seemingly contemplating it, before she frowns and takes a small step back. 

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

She’s a terrible liar. 

Jamie pull his hand back to tap anxiously at his side. 

“‘righto” 

He was right all along then. 

She really is just another stuck up bitch. 

-*-

“You know… there’s a legend around these parts. About a _ being _, in the woods…” Tommy Lindholm whisper with an unmistakably dramatical flair. 

He point towards the distant tower, appearing far over the tallest treetops. 

“They say that there’s a _ witch _living there-” 

“Yes, we all know Angela, stupid…” Efi Oladele intervene, rolling her eyes. “She comes by the town sometimes. And she attends every festival! But she’s not a _ witch _. There’s no such thing as witc-” 

“She’s a WITCH!” Tommy continues, speaking over Efi as it he hadn’t heard her, and if he’d been wearing a cape then Satya is sure that he’d been waving it around. “And one day, she created a monster! A monster that now roams these woods looking for victims, preferably…” he turn to his sibling, the twins Ronja and My Lindholm, “delicious, soft, little baby girls!” 

My gasp, but Ronja stands up, offended. 

“We’re not babies! _ You’re _the baby!” 

“Am not!” 

“Yeah you are! Everyone knows you peed the bed last night, like a stupid little baby! If the monster is gonna eat anyone, it should be you!” 

“He will not! And I-I did not! Efi don’t listen to her! She’s just a big stupid stupid-face.” 

“I also think that the monster should eat you. If it exists. Which it does not, because there are no such thing as monsters. Right, Satya?” 

All four children turn to her.   
She look into the forest, where all of them had recently seen something moving, inspiring this conversation. Then, she smile and turn back to them. 

“It was probably just Jamison. We caught him creeping around in the woods last week,” the children laugh. “he’s the only monster you need to worry about around here.” 

“Did you know he started a forest fire? _ Five times _?!” 

“Yeah, it was _ huge _! I could see it from my window!” 

“No you couldn’t, you were like… three!” 

“Well I could still see, stupid!” 

“But how could you remember? You’re the stupid, stupid!” 

Satya isn’t sure how to intervene, so she doesn’t. Instead, she heads deeper into the forest, and the children follow, bickering all the way, looking for the Lindholm-children’s fathers favorite axe. 

-*-

Since Satya’s move to Stardew, she’s been asked a number of times, not only by its inhabitants but by her boss as well as her parents, _ why _. 

They all seem to have theories of their own. 

Some think that she’s trying to reconnect with nature and her family roots - but Satya never cared much for either. 

Others ask, sometimes with a bit of unmistakable malice in their voice, if she’s trying to streamline Utopaea Farm into a part of the Vishkar corporations. She learnt quickly that big businesses have a bad reputation in Stardew, primarily because of the newly established supermarket Caledonia Corps, that just happen to be a part of the “Vishkar company family”. This is closer to the truth, even if it’s not quite it. 

Satya has no interest in turning her grandfather's old farm into a company, she doesn’t even expect it to be of economic profit to her, if she’s entirely honest with herself. 

She was just… bored. 

After her little… _ nervous breakdown _, as the doctors, her parents and Sanjay like to call it, she’d been put on extended sick leave for the rest of the year, which was, unmistakably, good for her! In the beginning. Before she began to climb the walls of her apartment out of boredom and anxiety. 

So, when her distant grandfather's letter reached her, telling her that she’d inherited his old farm in the outskirts of nothing at all and, more importantly, far, far away from any nagging parental -and/or stubborn authority figures that refused to let her work, not even part time, not even something _ small _, it seemed, simply put… perfect. 

Who needs Sanjay anyway?! She’d acquired her own project. 

In a matter of weeks, Satya found someone to rent her apartment, packed her bags and moved to Stardew, intending to renovate the farm, maybe even get it in working condition, and then flip it. 

It was a perfect plan! Flawless, really. If it weren’t for the fact that… well, the farm turned out to be an absolute mess. And there’s… neighbors, to consider, she doesn’t want to come across as a _ recluse _, she’d been enough of that back in Hyderabad, and she’ll need to be on good terms with them to complete all of her work on time, they’re the only workforce she’s got out here, after all. Also she is, technically speaking, still, well… sick. 

Sometimes it’s difficult to even get up in the mornings. 

While she’d been at her worse, she hadn’t. 

Still, she fights on, baking cookies and attending the majors social gatherings (who is a _ gorilla _ by the way?! A talking gorilla?! And no one seem to think that that’s odd?), planting some parsnips, working on the house with the town carpenter, Torbjörn, she’s… even been able to find a friend? She thinks. 

His name is Hanzo Shimada. He lives down in the village they call a town, together with his eccentrically green haired brother Genji, and though his instagram has less than 40 followers, Satya included, he’s the most skilled photographer she’s ever met. 

They attend the egg hunting festival together, and together they watch team Hana-Lucio-Genji-Efi-Zenyatta lose epically against team Lindholm-kids (it’s a bit unfair, really, there’s such a ludicrous amount of them) in the traditional egg hunting competition. During a stroke of inspiration and an uncharacteristic burst of extroversion, she hunts down Torbjörn to make arrangements for a chicken coop on the farm. 

When Hanzo asks why, she argue that the hens can keep her company, as well as provide her with fresh eggs every morning. If she has any left over, she can sell them to Lena, that owns the local convenience store, or first hand to other egg-lovers. 

She also purchase a load of strawberry seeds. 

Not for any practical purpose, really, she just… loves strawberries. 

_ A lot _. 

All in all, she’s starting to think that her plan is peachy perfect, undoubtedly because of her so far flawless execution (not that there was ever anything to really fix in the first place, back home, everyone were clearly just overreacting). She’s making great progress on the farm and, for the first time in her life, she’s actually somewhat-semi-blending in with a crowd. So what if all of her social skills are part of a carefully orchestrated act that leave her too exhausted to work or eat or even, paradoxically, _ sleep _most nights? She only has to keep it up for a year. 

What could possibly go wrong now? 

Nothing. 

The answer is 

_ nothing. _

-*-

The microwave is on fire. 

The microwave is on fire (_ again _ ), the alarm is wailing, the sprinklers are soaking everyone in the lunchroom, and Ashe is screaming something at him, something that sounds a lot like “idiot” and “fired” and “BOB! Do something!”, but Jamison can’t really tell, he’s _ way _too busy disassociating, can’t they see? Damn drongos. 

Bob is the one who extinguish the fire. Once he’s deactivated the alarm and the sprinklers, Jamison feel a bit of himself returning, like a small ray of light through a clouded sky. 

And on the other side of that ray is Ashe, soaked and red faced with anger, her makeup smeared across her cheeks. 

He hears himself laugh, like an outsider looking in, and it’s high pitched and nervous. 

“Oy, mate. Yer looking rooted.”   
“Get OUT! And don’t even think about coming back!” 

He does. And he doesn’t. 

As a matter of fact, he doesn’t think much at all as he gathers his things, leave through the backdoor and make the twenty minute walk home. As he pass through town, a little voice in the back of his head informs him that he’s leaving a wet trail behind him, and that people are staring. 

He chuckles. 

He must be looking like a real cactus. 

The smile slips. 

And twists into a snarl, as a spark of… something else, takes a hold of him. 

He clench his biological hand in the mechanical one as hard as he can, until it’s numb from the pain, and he thinks about fireworks, whisky and maybe he should just… grab a quick drink, go back to Caledonia Corps and blow that damn microwave up for them, once and for all? 

They think the _ fire _was bad? Wait ‘til they see what he can do with a good ol’ explosion! It’s obviously a piece of crap anyway, it would be like doing them a favor! 

Mind spinning with ideas, he bursts through the home door wet and angry but excited. 

“Oy, Mako ya big cunt! Ya won’t believe the shitty day I’ve had!” 

“Jamie-”

“First the chief had me stocking the shelves like some common dag, and while I was out there a customer cracked the shits just ‘cuz we were out of canned ravioli! Then later I get the sack,"

“Jamison.”

“just ‘cuz me mind was drifting on account of the missing ravioli and I forgot to take the bloody fork out of the microwave and it started another fire or whatever. And yeah I know what ye be thinking, mate, don’t even get started, yer all like “oy Jamie are ya fair dinkum right now” and bloody hell I’m fair dinkum! That Ashe and her lil’ can’t-do-wrong-arsekisser Bob are a couple of real drongo’s but I’m about to show them, I’m about to-” 

“Jamison!” 

He stops. 

Takes a proper look around the room. 

And there, of course, _ she _ is.   
Satya Vaswani, with her annoyingly perfectly plucked eyebrows annoyingly high on her annoyingly perfect forehead, standing all high and mighty, like there’s a stick up her perfect arse, with her arms full of… are those... bags of chicken feed? 

Jamie stare at her, frozen, then to Mako that’s behind the counter, probably selling Vaswani said chicken feed, but he’s looking way too tired and disappointed for Jaime to handle right now, he can’t… can’t handle this right now. 

Cheeks burning from embarrassment and a small assembly of tears forming, stubbornly, in his eyes, he stumbles out of the lobby and into his room, throwing the door shut behind him, where he crash onto the floor in an uncomfortable pile of his work-stuff. 

Oh yeah. 

He forgot that he was still carrying those around. 

Face buried in the carpet, he makes some ugly noise in the back of his throat that he’s not sure if it’s a giggle or a sob, before half-heartedly scattering his belongings around him on the floor. It’s not much, just… some notebooks that he never used, a coffee cup and a potted plant from the lunchroom that he swiped. 

Looking down and seeing the dirt around him, all wet and lumpy from his drenched clothing, he realise that he might have to change the pot now… he rolls over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. 

He can hear them talking through the door, low and muted, before Vaswani makes her leave. 

Soon after, Mako open the door. 

The floorboards creak under the weight of him as he sits down on the floor next to Jamison. 

“So,” he says, in that rough but kind way, the way only he seem to know about, that doesn’t make Jaime feel like he’s being pitied. “wanna talk about it?” 

“No.”   
“Okay. I’ve closed the shop.” He stands back up. “I’ll make some tea. Sugar?” 

“Five pieces.” 

He grunts in affirmation, but before he leaves for the kitchen, he stops in the doorway. 

“Y’know… right now, you kinda look like one of the pigs.” 

Jamison snorts, and smiles, and laughs until he cries. 

-*-

Breathe in, 

hold it for one mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi, four mississippi, five mississippi, 

release 

then repeat. 

_ Breathe _ ** _in. _ **

One mississippi (it’s early morning in even earlier april, and winter seem to have made a comeback sometime during the night). 

Two mississippi (she’s kneeling in the dirt outside, by her small, meticulously planned and cared for vegetable garden. The ground is frozen solid. Her otherwise perfectly manicured nails are cracked from trying to dig into it). 

Three mississippi (she’s still dressed for sleep, in a teal silk nightgown and a housecoat. If it’s cold outside, which it must be, because there’s frost in the grass and on the leaves and in the ground, she can’t feel it). 

Four mississippi (she’s had a… rough night. Starting with Winston’s birthday party the other evening where she’d been… overwhelmed. By the people, the music, the lights and the alcohol… She’d fled and through the haze, she’d heard someone (Hana, she thinks?) shout “Aww, that’s so sad! Athena, play _ Despacito _!” Mocking her? Maybe, or it was just some… unfortunate coincidence, [1] Satya has always had problems with understanding others intentions, has always struggled with distancing their realities from her own. 

She’d gone home without telling anyone, burning with the shame of it all, the defeat. Once at home, she’d shed out of her party-outfit and thrown herself headfirst into a scorching hot shower, trying to rinse away the humiliation with the makeup. She’d honestly been excited about this party! It was all a part of her perfect plot to… to make friends and fit in and be _ normal _, for once in her life, even if it was all just part of an act. Now she was watching it all disappear down the drain. 

She stayed in there for too long, leaving her mind dizzy and her fingers pruned like raisins, before going to bed. But even though her body was _ aching _with fatigue, her head was working overtime, spinning with unwelcome thoughts. 

Finally, after what felt like hours, she managed to fall into brief, restless sleep. 

Then, too early for the sun to rise, too early for the chickens in the coop to awake, she’d woken up and realised that she wouldn’t be able to sleep any more that night. 

She’d gotten up to make some coffee, realised that she was out, had a small breakdown over the thought of going to the Oxton convenience store and possibly having to _ talk _to people, pulled out a book and promptly fallen asleep trying to read it by the kitchen table. 

An undetermined amount of time later, she woke up with the first rays of the sun shining through her window. 

It was cold. 

Shivering, she’d put on her housecoat, trying to huddle as far into at as she could, before she looked out and… 

the world was white). 

Five mississippi (her crops are dead. 

They died sometime during the night, strangled and frozen underneath a coat of ice and snow, and it’s all just… too much. 

The charade she’s been playing with herself and the rest of the town, the farming, the renovations, the animals it’s… exhausting. Those parsnips were a gift from Winston, the same friendly ape whose birthday party she’d ran out of and possibly ruined because of her personal inequity; she’d promised him a sample and now they were _ annihilated, _another victim of her ignorance. And the strawberries… she forces down another sob. 

It’s silly, really, but she’s been looking forward to them 

so

_ much. _

And now they’ll never grow). 

** _Release. _ **

Satya opens her eyes and close her hands into tight fists. 

This, that she’s been running from so desperately ever since she came here (some would say most of her life), can’t be avoided any longer. 

Satya takes another long, shuddering breath. 

She needs help. 

-*-

Later that same day, she does what she’s seen others in the village do when in need of assistance: she puts up a notice outside of Oxton’s convenience store. 

It reads something like this: 

**Wanted**: 

Farmhand/laborer to work part time at Utopaea farm. 

Prior knowledge and/or experience of farming is credential. 

Pay, medical and dental insurance to be negotiated. 

Call Satya Vaswani at: [insert mobile phone number here]

Then she ventures into the shop and buys some coffee. If anyone noticed her social faux pas the other day, they don’t mention it. 

-*-

Satya’s carefully structured thursday routine usually goes by the following schedule: 

**6-10:00 AM**: Wake up, medication, yoga, shower. Moisturise, breathing exercises, getting dressed for work. Feeding the hens, collecting their eggs, breakfast (oatmeal, cucumber sandwich, a hard boiled egg, water and pitch black coffee), applying makeup. 

**10:00 AM-1:00 PM**: Tending the garden, cleaning the coop, lunch, doing the dishes. 

**1:00 PM-until exhaustion**: Renovations on the farm (at the moment, she’s finishing up the final touches on the chicken coop), tea time (rooibos. Always rooibos), general necessities such as grocery shopping, cleaning or discussing future renovations with Torbjörn (perhaps they’ll upgrade the kitchen next?). Cuddling the hens, dinner, dishes, checking her email, medication, meditation and then finally reading herself to sleep or, at the very least, a sleep-like state, as early as possible. 

However, on the thursday following her posting the “farmhand wanted”-notice, her routine is rudely shattered at precisely 12:37 PM with the sound of two heavy, determined knocks on her front door. 

Put off but curious, she open the door hoping for nothing but a brief interruption. 

Once she sees what’s on the other side, she realise with a sinking feeling in her gut that her schedule has just been knocked into complete disarray. 

“Mr Rutledge,” he’d been standing on her porch with his back towards her, but he turn around at the sound of her voice. He’s red faced, with his long grey hair escaping the ponytail in tangles, big body heaving with deep, earth shattering breaths. She follow the trail of his arm, that’s clenched around the long, slender neck of: “mr Fawkes.” 

Jamison is just as, if not more, red faced and heavy of breath as mr Rutledge. Though Satya isn’t overly comfortable with making eye contact, there’s something wild and haunted in his amber orbs (he can’t seem to focus on anything for too long, darting his gaze everywhere, seemingly, but at her face) that make it hard for her to look away. 

The two men look like they’ve been wrestling the entire way here from Rutledge’s farm, which, Satya suppose, could very well be the case. 

Without further ado, mr Rutledge push Jamison towards her with a powerful heave that leave the other male stumbling over the porch. He’d probably fall if it weren’t for the grip around his neck. 

“Here.” mr Rutledge grunts. 

Satya blink. 

Once, twice. 

She stares at mr Rutledge, that’s not offering her any more explanation, then at Jamison, that’s looking for all the world like he’s found a new, burning interest in the floor, then back at mr Rutledge. 

“What.” she hears herself say.

Mr Rutledge release his grip on Jamison, steadies him, gentle but firm, then turn back to Satya. 

“Take him.”   
He turn to leave, and Satya is pulled out of her stupor in a sudden surge of adrenaline. She stalks after him, pushing Jamison aside in the process. 

“Wait, no, what do you mean _ take him?! _I’m not… he’s not… why are you leaving him here?!” 

He stops and she almost run straight into him.   
Then he turn towards her, slowly. 

“Saw your notice. You need a farmhand. He’s your man.” He nods towards Jamison. 

“No but this is… this is highly irregular, it’s not how these processes go! He is supposed to call me, and we’ll schedule an interview, and if that goes well, a trial workday, then we’ll negotiate his working conditions and I don’t… I don’t even have his emergency contacts, what am I supposed to do if something happens to him? I can’t be responsible for his safety! You’ll just have to call me later and we’ll reschedule and then-” 

“You forget...” Mr Rutledge says, in such a heavy, demanding tone of voice that she doesn’t dare argue. There’s something threatening there that sets her on edge, but mostly he just seem… tired. “you owe me.” 

“Oh,” _ because of the fireworks, in the woods. _The words go unspoken between them. “oh, well I… I guess I can give him a chance,” 

Mr Rutledge grunts, then turn to leave again. 

“for you.” Then she grumbles, mostly to herself: “what’s the worst he could do?” 

_ He could set the farm on fire, _a tiny, “helpful” voice in the back of her head provides. 

She fights down a grimace and tries not to think about that. 

-*-

Meanwhile, Jamison is standing frozen by Vaswani’s front door, feeling like a rat cornered by a cat. 

And just like a rat, he figures that if he just stays really still, really quiet, then maybe she’ll get bored with him and leave him to scurry back home. The only problem with this strategy is that he’s really, _ really, _ ** _really _ **bad at it. Staying still that is. And quiet. 

Before he can stop himself, he’s tapping his mechanical fingers against his leg in a shaky, erratic rhythm. Once he realize this nervous tick, he starts to giggle, sporadically and under his breath but definitely audible, and he’d be a really, ** _really _ **bad rat, wouldn’t he? Eccentric and loud and breaking from the seams with excess energy, he’d get eaten on the spot. 

No wonder Mako is trying to get rid of him… 

He’s been out of work for almost three weeks now. Personally, Jamie doesn’t see the problem with this: he’s happy to spend his days sleeping until noon, drinking and annoying everyone he comes across, but Mako disagree. He’d said that he needs someone to “direct his energy into something less self-destructive” or something of the sort, in less words and more grunts, probably, Jamie sorta kinda definitely stopped listened somewhere in the middle of it all. 

Zenyatta, his younger cousin, had suggested that he use this time for “self reflection, improvement and fulfillment of your best self” yada yada hippie nonsense, and he’d sorta given it a try? On a very long, very boring day, he’d decided to join Zen and Genji in meditation for lack of better things to do. After fifteen, excruciating, uncomfortable minutes that felt like hours, he’d fallen asleep and woken up with a kinch in his neck and a drawn on mustache on his face. 

To prove Mako wrong, he’d decided on a different approach: he doesn’t need anyone else to direct his energy! He’s an adult, one who doesn’t need a job or a boss to be productive. He’d get a new hobby! Something constructive, something profitable, something that didn’t involve blowing things up (though that was usually his favorite way to pass the time). Something that he could (literally) rub Mako’s and Zenyatta’s stupid faces in! 

He’d tried baking at first, until he set the oven on fire. Then he’d tried painting, but the fumes were flammable and he’d set the canvas on fire. Then he’d tried knitting, but it was frustrating and finicky and boring, so he’d set the yarn on fire. When he told Mako that he wanted to try out chainsaw wood sculpting, his grunkle had grabbed him by the neck and dragged him all the way to Utopaea farm. Where he’s now currently standing, twitching and tapping and laughing quietly, probably making a bloody drongo of himself in front of his new… boss?   
Maybe? 

It sure seems like Mako just… up and left him here with her. And he knows that getting him that farmhand-job was the old bogan’s intentions, he’s not a _ complete _idiot, despite the mountain of evidence to the contrary. 

He chance a glance towards Vaswani. 

She’s looking pretty and pissy and pitch perfect as per usual, frowning down at her hands. The dark look on her face stirs up something uncomfortable in him. Of all the people in the valley looking to employ (she alone, since Ashe had already had him replaced), did he really have to work for _ her _? 

“Mr Fawkes?” 

He yelps and stumble over his feet in his hurry to turn around, face burning from getting caught staring. 

She’s looking at him with something cold and disapproving in her eyes, and he feels the shame turn into annoyance. Who the bloody hell does this sheila think she is, and by what authority does she judge him? She hasn’t even given him a proper chance yet! Well he’ll show her… 

Jamison gathers up all of the “sugar and spice and everything nice” inside of him to try for a smile. It ends up looking more like a grimace, but it doesn’t really matter much since she won’t look at his face anyway. 

“Follow me.” 

Vaswani pass him and go into the house, swinging her hips around like it’s nobody's business, and Jamie resist the urge to simply… flee as far away from here as possible, by thinking about grunkle Mako, thinking about lil’ cousin Zen, thinking about all the sweet cash he’s gonna be making working again, sweet cash that can be exchanged for goods and services, and follow her inside. 

The inside of the farmhouse is cramped but cozy. She lead him to sit by the kitchen table, that’s still arranged for lunch. Looks like they got to her in the middle of it. He look at the content of her meal and _ of bloody course _she’s a vegetarian, as if he needs another reason to dislike her… 

He sits down in a huff, trying (not that hard) to pay attention as she goes through the details of his employment. He’ll be working six hours per workday, starting at 6 AM and ending by 12 PM, during which he’ll be payed a pretty decent amount of money per the hour. Jaime’s job will be to keep the farm running while Vaswani’s busy picking out pretty wallpapers for the house or whatever: he’ll be feeding the animals, tending the garden, all of that kind of stuff. Then she starts jabbering on about medical and dental insurance, pension and vacation days, and Jaime’s mind drift to somewhere far, far away and infinitely more interesting. 

Eventually, she pulls him out of his inner reverie by making him sign a bunch of papers. He writes Mako down as his emergency contact without even thinking about it. 

Afterwards, she takes him on a tour around the property. 

There’s… not that much to see, really.   
Though Vaswani must have been doing some real hard yakka, she’s only gone bush for little over a month and the place was a run down mess when she got it, the (empty) barn ceiling is full of holes, the former fields are overgrown, reclaimed by nature, and the walls of the old greenhouse were smashed years before Jamie arrived in Stardew.   
And now, getting all of this chaos into order will be his responsibility. It’s enough to send his head for a spin. Sure, he’s got some experience farming, since he used to help Mako around back in the days, before Caledonia Corp, but he never thought that he’d be _ employed _ as a farmer.   
Despite all of the chaos, Vaswani’s managed to fixer upper a few things around the area herself. There’s a small, currently empty, vegetable garden out in the back, and an entirely new chook coop up front. The hens are free roaming, Vaswani explain, but they never stray far, and they always come when called for. 

“Observe.” She says. She clears her throat and then, in her usual, no-nonsense, stone cold, stick-up-her-arse ways, call: “Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, Michelangelo! Here, girls, here!” 

The chickens come as instructed, strutting out from the shrubberies to see if they’ve brought them any food, and they’re adorable, they really are, but Jamie is too busy staring at Vaswani to really notice. She’s crouched down to the ground, petting one of the chooks, acting like nothing, and it… _ has _ to be a joke, doesn’t it? She can’t seriously… she has to know… doesn’t she?!   
Half a second later, he can’t keep it down any more: he snorts, loud and ugly, then break down giggling. 

“What? Was Mako out of turtles or something?” He laughs. “You even… you even called them in the right order! Like the… the song!” He’s practically roaring with it now, shaking head to toe with laughter, and he can feel tears well up in his eyes. 

“I don’t understand.” 

He stops. 

Rubs the tears away. 

Holds his breath for a couple of seconds, to reign it all in. 

Then turn to look at her, an awkward, lopsided grin still on his face. 

She’s still sitting on the ground, a chook in her lap, but there’s something almost… hurt? In her eyes. It makes something heavy and uncomfortable shift in him. 

“What is it that’s so funny?” 

“Yer… yer chooks. Their names…” he stutters, not sure how to explain. 

“What about them?” 

“Well… they’re turtle names, mate.” 

“Turtle names?” 

“Deadset. It’s from those… those ol’ cartoons? The teenage mutant ninja turtles. Like… there’s Leonardo,” he points to a random chook. “he’s the leader. And then there’s… Donatello, he’s like, a scientist-inventor or whatever, a real dag, ye’d like ‘im. Then there’s Raphael, no one knows what he does, and Michelangelo, now that ol’ cunt’s the best one! He’s the party dude! Real gnarly. Everyone loves Michelang-” 

“I don’t know what they teach you in the schools around here, but I’ll have you know that my hens are named after the famous renaissance artists Leonardo Da Vinci, Donato di Niccolò di Betto Bardi, Rafael and Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni.” 

His smile twitch. 

Vaswani’s looking like she wants him to argue, like she’s ready to fight tooth and nail for the honor of the chooks around her and it’s all… bloody charming, if he’s to be honest with himself. 

“Ya got those chicks from Mako, right?” 

She frowns and look down to the ground. 

“Yes. But I don’t see how that’s-” 

“Who named them? Was it yerself or did someone, maybe a certain lil’ bald, self-appointed valley guru do it? Maybe he offered up some “friendly” suggestions?” 

“Zenyatta had some… opinions, about their names, yes, but he told me-” 

“Well y’see, the thing about my lil’ cuz’ Zen is that…” He sits down in front of her, calling a chook to him. She struts up without a care in the world, letting him pet her with big, dark, trusting eyes. He turns back to Vaswani, that’s giving him a dubious glare. “he’s a lil’ shit.” 

He smile at her, honestly this time. 

Still looking wary, she turn her gaze from him, to the chicken he’s petting, back to him. 

Then, she takes a long, deep breath, and says, low enough that Jamie almost doesn’t hear it:   
“So, that’s a family trait, then.” 

He blinks. 

Once, twice. 

And then the floodgates open, and he laughs so violently that the chooks run away. Watching her through hazy eyes, he thinks he can see the corner of her mouth twist into a… _ oh _. 

He almost stops laughing altogether, but that would be weird, so he just… tones it down a little, settling for a nervous giggle. He watch her smile, watch the mischievous sparkle in her eyes and the scrunch of her nose, the swell of her cheek as she push it up with her lips, and it’s… cute. 

Screw that, it’s really, bloody bonkers adorable, and it leaves him feeling flustered and embarrassed again, for an entirely different, much worse reason this time. 

Saty-_ Vaswani _reach her hand out to him. It takes him a moment to realise that she wants him to shake it. 

Cursing underneath his breath, he takes it, trying (and failing) to ignore the warm tingle he feels where they touch. 

“Welcome to Utopaea farm, mr Fawkes.” 

“Mr Fawkes was me deadbeat da’,” he says, unthinking. “call me Jaime.” 

“Jaime…” she pull her hand back, but the smile has returned, making his heart do all kinds of silly loopdeloops inside him. “Alright then. You may call me Satya.” 

“Satya…” he tries it out and find that he really, _ really _like the feeling of it on his tongue. And oh… 

They’ve all been right about him from the start, haven’t they? He’s an idiot. 

A real class A, textbook example of a galah. 

A pretty sheila (who just _ happen _ to be his new boss) show him even a tiny bit of affection and now his drongo ticker is doing somersaults?! It would be funny (and a little kinky, if he let himself think about it, which he _ won’t _), if it weren’t so bloody stupid. And pathetic, and inappropriate and… ugh, he is just… 

so royally screwed, isn’t he? 

-*-

Some time after Jamison’s employment, Satya is forced to admit (quietly and only ever to herself) that having him around really has been positive for productivity. It’s about to be a pain in her wallet, however... She might have been a bit too generous with his payment, especially considering that he hadn’t even bothered to negotiate, just nodding along with everything she’d said. She could have made him sign everything he owns over to her and he probably wouldn’t have noticed. Luckily for him, she has no interest in fireworks or indecently low hanging jeans shorts. 

Incorporating Jamison’s presence into her routine has allowed Satya to do a complete rework of her weekly schedule, putting a lot more of her time and resources on farm renovations. This means that she’s spent a lot of time at the Lindholm residence, planning, discussing and negotiating repairs and renovations with Torbjörn. 

It’s after one of these appointments that Satya, one warm day in late may, run into Sombra. 

This, in itself, isn’t a… _ rare _occurrence, per say. From what she’s come to understand, Sombra has been living with the Lindholms since her late teens. It’s really just uncommon to see her out of her room. Away from her computer. During the day. And outside to boot? 

Satya doesn’t consider herself an intrusive person, but there’s something about Sombra that’s always captivated her, and this amount of uncharacteristic occurrences is enough to spark anyone’s curiosity. 

She watches the other woman move, completely undisturbed by Satya’s presence in the doorway, from the garden of the little house to the left to the open garage to the right, muttering animatedly to herself as she goes. 

There’s a screwdriver in her hands, and Satya watch her crouch down and work on an old but clearly loved and well used motorcycle that’s been dragged into the sunlight. 

“Hey, muñeca. Are you just going to stare at me all day or will you come over here and say hello like a real person?” 

“Oh. My apologies.” Satya stutter, then move to stand next to Sombra, that still hasn’t looked up from the motorcycle. It’s making her nervous. “I didn’t mean to… stare.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Sombra wave her hand in a dismissive gesture. 

“I’ve just… I’ve never seen you-” _ outside _, is what she wants to say, but doesn’t. “with a motorcycle before. I wasn’t aware that you had one.” 

“Hm, well… that’s usually what happens when you don’t talk, show or hint about owning something.” 

Satya is… _ really _not sure how to respond or even react to that, until Sombra finally tears her eyes away from the bike to give her a teasing smile. 

“Wink.” She says and winks. 

For some reason, the sight of it makes Satya feel slightly flustered. 

Thankfully, Sombra duck her head down again to continue working, and a comfortable silence stretch between them. 

“Sometimes…” the latina says, breaking the silence. Her voice is soft. “after sundown, I make the long ride out of Stardew Valley… There’s just… really nothing else like it, Satya. Blazing along the empty stretch of road toward the faint city glow… Once I’ve saved up enough money, I’m going to head out on my own… to the city and beyond. Just me and my bike.” She peek up from the bike again, and the look in her eyes make Satya’s heart swell in her chest. 

“Maybe I’ll take you for a ride some day?” 

“Oh that would be… it sounds… appealing, perhaps but it’s…” 

“Scary?”   
Their eyes, golden brown against a chocolate shimmer, meet for one, intense moment. It’s enough to make Satya’s voice come out as out of breath when she finally answer:   
“Yes.” 

Sombra only smile.   
“Don’t worry, amante. I’d never let you fall.” 

-*-

The 20th of april is, usually, the Best Bloody Day of the Whole Bloody Year. 

It’s Jamison’s birthday. He never used to look forward to those, before Stardew, but ever since he moved in with Mako it’s like his grunkle saw all the disappointments of Jamies’s past holidays (forgotten gifts or possibly some last minute purchase. The last time he’d been given a cake he’d been nothing but an anklebiter) and decided to compensate for them all thousandfold. 

Birthday’s in the Rutledge-household means breakfast in bed (pancakes), meals of Jamie’s choosing (pizza), presents, cake (icecream and strawberries) and, finally, once the sun’s set, fireworks. Most importantly to Jamie however, it means family time. 

He’s not really in the habit of trusting or even _ liking _other people, so grunkle Mako and cousin Zenyatta, the only folks in the world that Jamie will admit to being fond of, taking their respective days off every year just to spend it with him? It means… a lot. Actually. 

A lot more than he feels like he can express. 

The 20th of april is _ usually _ the Best Bloody Day of the Whole Bloody Year, so with everything else going wrong lately, it seem almost natural to him when this one becomes a big, awkward mess. Or, more accurately, when it makes a big, awkward mess out of _ him _… 

This year, Mako decided to invite Satya to their family dinner. 

Jamie doesn’t understand why, he wasn’t consulted in the decision (probably cuz the ol’ bloke knew that he’d refuse), and they’ve never had an outsider join them before, what makes her so special?! Sure, she’s his boss, and Mako’s all about “maintaining good working relations” and all of that jazz, but it’s not like he used to invite Ashe over in the past, and Jamison is pretty sure that a professional relationship doesn’t depend on welcoming each other to (private!) birthday parties. 

What’s even more baffling is that she accepted. 

Jamie won’t let his mind dwell on that thought for too long, since it’s making him nervous and jittery in an uncomfortably happy way that might just make him spontaneously combust. 

She came knocking on their door at precisely three P.M, wearing that pale yellow dress of hers that he’s started liking so much and that little smile that he likes even more, and the sight of her is almost enough to send him running. 

He doesn’t understand what’s wrong with him, it’s not like they don’t talk during work?! And now suddenly he’s unable to get a sound out, and the look of her is sending his heart into a fit, there’s just… something so _ domestic _about her being here? For his birthday, the day that, for the last ten years, he’s been spending exclusively with people that he lo-... cares for. 

It should be insulting. 

This… intrusion, into His day, his Best bloody day, and he wants to be cracking his shit about it, he really does, but somehow, her being there just feels… right. 

And isn’t _ that _a terrifying thought?! 

Zen place a hand on his shoulder, radiating that warm, calming energy that’s so entirely his, helping Jamison stutter out a greeting and an invitation into the farmhouse. 

Before entering, Satya push a (surprisingly heavy) birthday present into his arms. Jamie feels like exploding again. 

While she’s busy taking a house-tour with Zenyatta, Jamison open the present up, tearing wrapping paper and string all over the place, only to find four bottles of McCree’s best brewed cold ones and a note. 

“Happy birthday Jamison, and thank you” 

the note says, in beautiful, neat letters 

"for your help with Utopaea farm.   
I couldn’t do this without you. 

All the best /Satya” 

He swallows. 

Put the note, quickly but careful enough not to damage, into his pocket. 

And try not to let his heart beat its way right out of his ribcage. 

Then he make the decision to drink one of the beers with dinner. It’s one of McCree’s best, after all, t’would be a downright shame to let it go to waste. 

During dinner, Jamie is too busy not exploding to really partake in any conversation, rubbing the note between his fingers as a nervous tick. He does, however, learn a few things about Satya, just from occasionally listening in through the haze of his mind. 

1) she’s from some town in India called Hydera-... Hyderabubu-...Hyderabud or… something like that, 

2) she’s an only child, and her grandfather’s only grandchild, 

3) she does not like to talk about her family. Once that's been established, both Mako and Zen politely stop asking questions about them. She seem to appreciate this, 

4) she hates pickles, and Jamie almost joins in at that one, because so does he! But the conversation moves on too quickly, and he lose his guts, 

5) she’s not vegan, but she doesn’t eat or drink dairy products, 

6) because she won’t eat dairy, she can’t eat the icecream cake that Mako got for the occasion. Hearing this, Jamie offers to run by the store and buy something for her before his mouth has had time to catch up with his brain. She politely declines. 

“I’m fine with just the strawberries on top, if you don’t mind…” she says, smiling down at her knees. “as long as they’ve been properly cleaned.” 

Jamison takes a big sip of his beer. 

He’s a little pissed. 

Then, when no one is watching, he begins to pick off the strawberries off his cake, one after the other. He cleans them up with a napkin, opting away from his (constantly dirty) hands. 

When she excuse herself to go to the bathroom, he quickly pours them all over onto her plate while giving Mako and Zenyatta a dirty glare.   
“Not a word.” 

“Don’t you think that Satya would like to kno-”   
“ **Not** ” he stare down at Zen, “a **word**.” 

They agree, but are unable to keep the amusement from their faces. 

Bloody wankers. 

Once Satya return, Jamie makes sure not to look at her, staring down at the remains of his cake instead. 

Still, he can hear the bliss in her voice when she ask who gave her all of the strawberries, and it’s enough to make his face burn from something big and warm and happy in his chest. 

“An anonymous donator.” Zenyatta says as way of explanation. 

“I see…” her voice is soft, so soft that he feels like he might drown in it. He can feel her eyes boring into the top of his head and suddenly all he wants to do is look at her. Instead, he tries his very best to turn invisible. “Thank you.” 

When he goes to bed that night, the sound of her voice is echoing through his brain like a metronome. 

_ Thank you, thank you, thank you _

_ You may call me Satya. _

_ Thank you, thank you _

_ I couldn’t do this without you. _

Thank you

-*-

There’s flowers in her hair. 

She’s wearing it out today, with a flowing blue dress and lips painted a soft pink, and when she’d stepped out into the clearing Lena put a flower wreath, made of purple crocus, wood anemone and magnolia flowers, onto her soft, black curls.

They’re at the flower dance, a Stardew tradition. The festivities seem to have attracted most of everyone in town, even it’s most reclusive inhabitants: mr Morrison is back from another long fishing trip, celebrating together with his otherwise ever so elusive husband Reyes, ms Ziegler has climbed out of her high tower in the woods, Sombra and Hana have been forced away from their respective electronic devices to spend time with their families, Moira have crawled out of her beach cabin to flirt with Ziegler/bicker with Fareeha, which is... a lot to unpack, honestly, Satya won’t bother with it at the moment, and Jamison… Jamison is standing towards the outskirts of the area, looking painfully out of place and uncomfortable in a (almost entirely clean and only slightly ruffled) button up, pale blue shirt. There’s a daffodil in his hair.

She wonder who put it there. 

Like most celebrations, it began with a feast, to which Satya contributed with a bean hotpot so spicy that she saw mr Wilhelm-Amari cry a little. She stayed a polite distance away from the meat-and fish dishes, but enjoyed the fresh potatoes, the spring salads, fried eggs, a lovely chocolate cake that mrs Amari-Wilhelm brought for the occasion [2], and, most of all, the strawberries. Fresh, sweet and juicy, they tasted like the beginnings of summer (with a small, but lingering, aftertaste of loss). 

But now, after (almost) everyone has finished their meals (mr Wilhelm-Amari and Torbjörn seem to be having an impromptu eating competition), an almost reverent silence spread across the table. 

It’s time for the Dance. 

Satya watch in interest as the “chosen ones” (an even amount of local youths, selected by Mayor Winston the year prior) stand from the table, one after the other, as if they’re somewhat loathe to do so and would much rather be anywhere else but right here right now thank you very much, but are too polite to say so. 

They align in the middle of the clearing, women on one side, all with different flower arrangements in their hair, and men on the other. Observing them, Satya realise that Winston must have had them paired up as well, there’s no other explanation to the many mismatched couples standing before her. Hanzo is about to dance with _ Moira _, of all people, and Satya knows from his many colorful rants about her that she’s far from his favorite person in town. 

The only “couple” that makes even a little bit of sense to her is Lucio and Hana.   
Other than them there’s Fareeha with Genji, Baptiste with Mei, Aleksandra who is absolutely dwarfing Zenyatta and Sombra, dressed head to toe in purple, that’s not even attempting to hide her displeasure from having been paired up with… oh, of course. The only remaining, eligible male bachelor in town. Jamison. 

He’s looking sweaty and nervous and even more jittery than usual, and once the music starts up and the dance begins, he step on Sombra’s feet with his pegleg on several occasions, making her swear up a storm in heated spanish and him laugh in that high, skittish way that’s recently begun to make Satya’s stomach hurt. 

She wants to go out there. 

She wants to go out there, and… she doesn’t know. Get him away from here, she suppose. From the crowd, from their whispers and glares, from the way that Winston is muttering under his breath, taking notes in a pad, judging their… performance? Chemistry? She doesn’t know, but she doesn’t like it, no matter how well intended his actions are he’s entirely oblivious to everyone’s discomfort, too caught up in his own vision. 

Finally, he raise his big, dark eyes from the paper and realise that she’s looking at him. 

“Oh, Satya, great!” He smile, seemingly completely unaware of the rigid atmosphere in the recently pleasant forest clearing. “I was just thinking of how to incorporate you into next years dance…” 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

“just a heads up, we _ will _ expect you out there! You might not know yet, being relatively new to town, but it is considered a great honor around here-” Sombra is swearing again, louder than ever. Satya thinks that she might have to wash her ears out with soap after this. Winston acts like he can’t even hear her. “we’re a bit tight on male dancers, but that’s alright, I’ll just have someone-” another swear. This time Winston does paus. His eyes flicker to Sombra and Jamie, then back to Satya in a conspiratory way. “ _ sit the next one out _ . If you know what, or, rather… _ who _, I mean.” 

“I’m… I’m sorry, but-”   
“No, no, don’t worry about it. It will all work out just perfect, it always does!” Winston rise from his chair, and begin to walk away. “And then we’ll all have a wonderful time.” 

“Ah, yes… A wonderful time.” the music stops, making Satya look back at the dancers. Most of them move away from each other as quickly as possible, looking harrowed yet relieved to have survived the annual humiliation. The only ones still dancing are Lucio and Hana, that are spinning each other around the clearing, laughing. 

Satya scan the crowd and, finally, spot the sight of Jamison’s retreating back, staggering into the forest when he thinks that no one is watching. 

He dropped his daffodil on the way out. 

She let him go, but rise from the table to pick the flower up. 

It’s looking like it’s seen better days, wilting and tattered after someone (possibly Jamison himself) stepped on it. Still, Satya install it in her purse, hoping against all reason that it will freshen up once she’s had a chance to take it home and put it in some water. 

It’s technically a weed, after all, and if there’s anything Satya has learned from her brief flirt with gardening, then it’s that no matter how many times you trample and uproot them, they’ll always find their way back to bother her eventually. 

-*-

“Honestly, the whole ordeal is ridiculous, and I don’t see why we have to put up with it every year. The festival would be lovely without it and yet Winston insist that he has this… this… what’s the word?” 

“Vision?” 

“Yes! Vision! That’s the one! Well I’ll tell you what he can do with his so called ‘vision’, he can shove it deep into his big, furry a-” 

“It wouldn’t be much of a dance, though.” Satya hurries to intervene, before Moira’s had the chance to humiliate herself completely. “Without the dancing.” 

“Yes but…” the other woman whines, as red in the face as her hair. “it’s… _ stupid _. And such an… effect of conservative, backwards thinking, I mean, did you know that we’re not even allowed to choose our own partners? Winston has us all paired up, male to female, like we’re some kind of… breeding stock!” 

Satya actually does laugh at that, strangled but definitely amused, which makes a smug smile spread across Moira’s face. 

Despite her better judgement, she’d allowed the irish woman to convince her (after a couple of snaps) to join her for a glass of wine (that quickly turned into three, Moira’s working on her fourth) at McCree’s bar, after the Flower Dance. 

Now they’re sitting by the counter, a lot closer together than Satya would allow when sober. Moira’s placed a hand on the naked skin of her knee but she’s doesn’t mind, the alcohol is making her feel adventurous, her body is positively buzzing with it, and maybe that was the other woman's intentions all along? Get her drunk and then take her back to her beach cabin for the night? Satya finds that she doesn’t mind, it’s been too long since she had anything between her legs that didn’t run on batteries. 

“So…” she says, trying to sound seductive through the cloud of alcohol dimming her mind. “if you could dance with whoever you liked at the festival, who would you ask?” 

“Oh.” Moira sit up straight, removing her hand from Satya, apparently not having expected _ that _question. 

She watch in interest as several emotions pass across Moira’s face: shock, reverie, joy, and then, finally, despair. As her mismatched eyes fill with tears, Satya realize just how desperately they need to drink some water. 

“Well…” the redhead snivels, even as Satya’s busy ordering from McCree. “...there’s this _ woman _” 

_ Angela. _

“she’s… not anything like the others around town. She’s… special, and beautiful, and sophisticated and-” 

_ and it’s Angela. _

“she doesn’t even…” Moira’s face wrench up. Crying is a really bad look on her. “she doesn’t even know that I exist!” She bawls, making her makeup rinse down her cheeks in ugly, dark splotches. “and then there’s that… stupid, jock Fareeha, always walking around in her college sports jacket, drooling all over Ang-I mean…”

_ Angela. _

“this… the woman. Thinking she’s… so _ cool, _like, earth to Fareeha: high school is over! Just because you never graduated doesn’t mean that the rest of the world didn’t move on!” 

Ugh. 

Who would have thought that Moira would be such a soppy, annoying drunk? 

Satya accept two big, cool glasses of water from McCree and put them on the counter, before turning to her… friend? She, reluctantly, pat her shoulder. 

“There there…” she says, because that’s what you’re supposed to say, right? When you’re comforting someone? She doesn’t know and, honestly? Most social interactions make Satya feel like she’s following a script, anyway. 

“Oh you are just… so kind…” Moira sniffles and Satya can’t believe that she actually thought that she was going to follow this woman to her home and engage in… bedroom activities, with her, just five minutes ago. “You really are such a good friend to me, Satya. I would like to-” 

before she’s had the chance to stop her, Moira is on her feet, facing the other inhabitants of the bar with her glass of water raised high. 

“I would like to propose a toast!” 

Satya tries her very best to sink into her chair and down into the floor and far, far, far away from this situation, this was such a bad idea what was she _ thinking _?! 

“To our friendship! Mine and Satya’s… and to the…” 

The front door jingles as someone steps inside. Looking up, Satya recognize Fareeha together with Aleksandra and Brigitte. Oh no. This can’t possibly end well. 

She look back to Moira, that’s glaring at Fareeha with something rotten in her eyes. 

Then, she smile, and the look activates every internal alarm system that’s in Satya at once. 

Still making (intense) eye contact with the Egyptian-Canadian, Moira raise her glass and says, low and dangerous, like a curse:   
“to our friendship, and the **doom **of our enemies.” 

The bar goes silent. 

It’s so… theatrical, over the top, outrageously _ Moira _, that Satya has to smother a groan into the palms of her hands. 

She 

can not 

_ believe _

that she was planning to have sex with this woman. 

The redhead sits down next to her, looking as smug as ever, and some of the tension slowly begin to ease out of the room as she turn her back to it. 

“So,” she says conversationally, as if nothing is amiss. “what kind of manga do you like?” 

This time, Satya couldn’t keep the groan down if she’d tried. 

-*-

An hour or so later, Satya escort the utterly _ wasted _Moira back home to her beach cabin, where her dogs, Sasuke and Lelouch, are waiting for her. 

The fact that Satya stopped drinking anything but water after the others little… _ speech _, didn’t seem to give the irish woman any pause. So, when Moira invites her inside in some play at seduction, Satya throw the door in her face. 

Maybe it’s just the alcohol talking, but if she has to listen to another forty five minute rant about the superiority of “SasuNaru” over “SasuSaku”, then Moira can take her “shonen” and shove it deep up into her skinny, freckled ass. 

-*-

One shamelessly warm day in late may, Jamison (literally) stumble over Him. 

He’s been pulling weeds and roots out of the old wheat-field all morning [3], swearing loudly over the indignity of it all (all of this work just to plant some grass?!), when, suddenly, there’s a rock sticking out of the ground where it’s clearly not supposed to be, and he end up falling face first all over it.   
“Alright-” he splutters, mouth full of dirt and twigs. “who the bloody hell put _ that _there?!” 

The question is quickly answered with a closer look at the stone. 

Jamie spends the following minutes fretfully asking himself if and how and when he should tell Satya about this. He’s pretty sure that she’s spending the day at home today, planning the new kitchen, so it’s really just a matter of, well… finding the guts to tell her, if he’s going to be honest with himself. 

He gives himself another ten (it’s not like He’s _ going _anywhere…) before he gather himself and the collected weeds up, limp his way over the field, dump his collection in the compost, and knock on her door. 

Once he’s explained what he’s found, she’s quick to follow him outside. 

They find the grave where he left it, right on the edge of the field by an old oak tree. 

It’s overgrown and oblique, the words so worn from weather that they’re almost unreadable. But there’s really no mistaking it. 

This is Satya Vaswani’s grandfathers, Muhammad Vaswani’s, grave. 

They spend the rest of the day taking care of it. Side by side, they pull weeds and move rocks, right and polish the stone. By noon, she ask him to go home, since his workday is over. He refuse, and she finally agree to let him stay on the condition that he take the following workday off. 

Towards mid afternoon, she goes to Oxton’s convenience store for supplies. 

He’d take the break to reflect on the day, if he wasn’t so busy digging. On her return, they plant a flowerbed around the grave. 

At some point, she disappear into the house for a while, only to return with a collection of sandwiches (cucumber) and a thermos full of tea (rooibos). They eat them together in silence. 

Finally, after working for most of the day, Satya set down her shovel and declare that they’re done. 

Jamie has no idea what time it is, his cellphone ran out of batteries hours ago and he’s not the type to carry a wristwatch, but the shadows have grown long around them, there’s a distinct chill in the air and, in the bushes, the crickets have begun to play. 

They sit down together, and, at Satya’s request, Jamie pull out the lighter he’s always carrying around to kindle the candle that she’s placed before the grave. After the polish that they gave it, you can read the words that were engraved on it, years ago. 

“Here lies Muhammad Vaswani. 

1919-2001 

Beloved father, grandfather and friend. 

Surely we are Allah’s

and to Him we shall return” 

“I don’t remember much of him myself, but… father told me that he was a devout muslim. Grandmother was hindu, like the rest of the family…” Satya’s voice is heavy with nostalgia, but she’s smiling. “Apparently, it caused quite a stir, back in the days.” 

She sigh and look away, into the distance.   
“I’m happy that mayor Winston chose to respect that. His religion, that is. When they engraved the stone.” 

“Yer family weren’t involved?” Jamie ask before he’s had the chance to stop himself. 

Something dark pass over her features, making him wince. 

“No, we weren’t… my father and grandfather, they weren’t very… close. Towards the end. So when mayor Winston offered to plan the funeral arrangements, I suppose that my father just… accepted. Handed the work over.” 

“They were real cobber’s, those two… or so I’ve heard. Mako, too, he liked your grandpa’ a bunch… couldn’t seem to shut up about it when ye were about to move in-” 

“Mr Rutledge? Talkative?” 

“Pfft, well, I mean…” he give her a crooked, embarrassed smile. “more than usual.” 

“Hm.” 

They lapse into a comfortable silence. 

Now that he’s not busy with work, Jamie doesn’t really know what to do with his hands. 

The right one keeps fidgeting with the mechanical left one, tugging at the joints and checking how hard he can pull them before they- 

“Did you know him?” 

“Hm?” 

He stare back down at her, but she’s not looking at him. 

She’s looking at the grave, something sad in her eyes, and he’s filled with an overwhelming desire to make it disappear.   
“My grandfather?” 

“Nah, sorry, I… I didn’t move here, to the bush, ‘til I was fifteen. Yer ol’ granpa was long gone by then…” she’s disappointed, he knows. She must be. How does he fix this? “but aaahhh, I’ve heard stories! Of course! From the others ‘round town, ‘specially when ya were ‘bout to move here! Like I said, people just wouldn’t **shut up **about it, about ‘im, about-” 

She turn back to him, a smile on her face and he feel himself falter. 

“about… you.” 

There’s something so soft in her eyes, he breathes it in and feels it spread through his lungs, through his veins, through his brain until he’s lightheaded with it. 

She’s so pretty in the candlelight, darkness falling slowly around them, like a blanket, he’d reach out if he wasn’t so terrified of breaking the moment. 

“Tell me.” She says, barely more than a whisper. 

“Tell you… what?”   
“Everything. Everything they told you about him.” 

And so, he does. 

He tells her every nostalgic story, every piece of seemingly useless trivia, every drab of juicy gossip and/or rumor about the Vaswani family that Jamie had pretended not to listen to during his time in Stardew Valley. 

Back then, he’d thought it was pointless. 

But looking at the way that the stories make Satya’s eyes light up now, the way her lips turn upwards into a smile, around in a gasp or, even, occasionally, makes her laugh (the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, it echoes across the valley and he never wants it to stop), he can’t help but think that they’re the most important things he’s ever learned. 

-*-

[1] It was, in fact, just unfortunate timing. Hana was talking to Lucio, who’d just fallen flat on his face after a magnificently failed kegstand.

[2] Vegan, since Satya doesn’t eat dairy products. She doesn’t think of herself as terribly religious, but it’s become a habit by now, one that reminds her of home. Besides, it upsets her stomach.

[3] Usually, this is done with a machine. But the only machine’s at Utopaea farm are the ones that Satya’s grandfather left her (so they’re basically a thousand years old), and Jamie wouldn’t know how to operate them even if they’d still be working.


	2. (you) feel like summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 out of 2 of their summer.  
Communication is difficult

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ALIVE! 
> 
> I've been writing this all summer (though work got crazy here, so I didn't get much done) and autumn, but somewhere it got away from me and took a much longer (and angstier?) life of its own. Because of this, I've decided to divide it into two parts. I'll post an update with the next chapter in about a week ^^ (its written and ready to be read!)  
Also, these will be the two chapters where the fic earns its M-rating, so be prepared for that. 
> 
> Thank you to all that left kudos and comments on the last chapter, your support mean the world to me <3 
> 
> Beta:d by the wonderful falloutboiruto

Jaime isn’t sure how it happened, but he’s somehow managed to find himself in Her bed. 

She’s brushed her hair aside and he, braver than he ever dreamed he’d be, is taking the opportunity presented to him to touch her. One finger is running down the stretch of her spine, the mechanical one is tangled (softly, carefully) in her long, dark hair. 

He feels her shiver, wordlessly, underneath him, and he’s struggling to breathe, filled with an overwhelming desire to strengthen the touch, deepen the connection, make her feel good. Jaime release her hair and take a gentle grip on her shoulders, squeezing with a question mark. 

_ Is this too much? _ He wants to ask, but the words stick in his throat. _ Is it okay? _

“Yes,” somehow, she seem to have heard him anyway. There’s a sort of breathless quality to her voice that make him shiver. “Jaime, please don’t stop…” 

Even though he’d insisted on it, she rarely use his nickname. 

It sounds good when she says it. Feels real good to hear it. 

He strengthen the touch and massage his fingers into her skin, revelling at the way that she seem to melt into him. He’s practically burning with it, heat spreading from her body into his fingers, even the mechanical ones, and further on through his bloodstream. 

“Jaime, please…” she sobs, or she laughs, or she moans, he’s not sure, but it makes the burn into a wildfire and he stills, overwhelmed. If this is what kills him, he won’t complain. “please, please, please…” 

He needs to be closer to Her. 

He can feel it, in the way she’s shivering underneath him, the way she pleads, his body is drawn to hers like a moth to a flame. Carefully, he gathers her into his arms and nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck, breathing her in. Everywhere they touch, he burns. It’s not enough. 

“what is it, love?” he murmur against her skin, fighting the urge to kiss her right there, above her right collarbone. 

“That feels so good, Jaime… You’re doing so well,” the words send the wildfire down into his lower stomach. He sways slightly, drunk on this, drunk on her. “don’t stop.” 

“_ Never _,” it comes out more harsh than intended. Still snuggled into the crook of her neck (it’s so comfortable, he might just make a nest there and never come back out), he reach his hands down and begin to draw patterns down her back. She moans, softly, as he kneads through the fabric of her shirt, into her skin. “keep talking, love. Tell me how to do it… tell me how to do this right by ya.” 

“Jaime… Jamison, Jaime…” she whisper his name like it’s something holy, like it’s a prayer, and every time the syllables leave her lips and tremble through the air he feels his devotion to her deepen into something almost suffocating. He wants to eat the sound of his name from her lips. Wants to swallow around her mouth, catch every shuddered exhale, make her say it again and again and again… 

“Jaime?” 

“Yes?”  
“Let go of me.” 

He lets her go like someone burned (which, looking at the dark splotches of ash and soot that’s spreading across his skin wherever he’s touched her, he might just be), scrambling to the other side of the bed. 

He messed up. 

He went too far, made her uncomfortable, fucked it all up and now he’s _ ruined _them, like he ruins everything he touch and wants and l-. He chokes on the word. 

Chokes on the world. The thoughts are spinning, spinning, _ spinning _ through his head even as he hears himself stutter apology after apology, like an outsider looking in. And the fire is dying but the ember that remain _ hurts _, even the prosthetic aches, the cinders are eating at his skin and spitting out something charred and brittle and broken. Like the logs on a fire, he feel his skeleton snap. 

“Jaime,” she’s back in front of him, inches away, but he can’t look at her, doesn’t dare to in case there’s anger or disappointment in her eyes. She takes his hand in his, and the fire roars back to life with a vengeance. He can’t seem to stop staring at it, the way her dark, soft fingers intertwine with his pale, scarred ones. Wherever she touch him, the soot clings to her, leaving behind black blotches that sink into her skin and spread. He wants to pull away, stop this _ contamination _, but she won’t let him. “Jaime, I want you look at me.” 

Finally, he meet her eyes. They’re burning with something like hunger, and amusement, and a horrible, bone deep sadness that make Jamison want to reach out and _ touch _ , crack a shitty joke, make her laugh, and the intensity of it all is enough to nail him into place and stop struggling.  
“I’m going to kiss you now.” She says. If he was ever breathing, he stops now. “If you don’t mind.”  
“N-no, I… please…” he’s begging, sobbing, breaking apart by the seams. “please.” 

She place a delicate hand on his cheek. He can feel it burning away at his skin, see the smudge of ash on her hands as she follow a blazing trail over his cheekbone. He wants for nothing but _ more _. 

Finally, she leans in to capture his mouth with her own. 

It begins slow, soft, a brush of lips against lips that make him tremble and swear, breathe something wordless and broken that might be a moan against her skin. She pull back only to kiss him again, small pecks of overwhelming warmth that leave him hungry for more, and this time the sob that leave him is a word, is a name, is a prayer:  
“Satya,” he whisper, over and over. “Satya…” 

As Satya deepen the kiss, Jamison’s lips crack and burn beneath her. Her tongue brush against his and the fire spreads down his throat, into his stomach and lungs, where it roars with desire.  
They tangle against each other and Jaime tries to focus on the feeling of Her, her hands in his hair and her breasts against his chest, the breath they seem to share, the sweetness of her tongue, but the fire burns too bright, he can feel himself slipping. 

Suddenly, he’s the Outsider again, watching himself kissing Satya, watching Satya kissing him. The ash has spread from their mouths across their faces, like stains of ink where they’ve been touching the most (across their lips, down the side of her neck, on their shoulders, their arms and hands. The entire prosthetic is black), to scattered freckles of it around the edges. 

He’d reach out and count hers, if he could, but he’s frozen in place. 

Unmoving, he watches the other him literally break at the seams, tumbling like a ragdoll to the mattress, eyes wide and blank and unseeing. Satya is still kissing him, even as the fire is spreading through her as well, he sees it in the glow in her seams, and suddenly he wants to _ scream _at her to get away, to run, to save herself before… 

And then comes the boom. 

The firecrackers fall from his other selves pockets and Jamison explode in a rain of teal and orange flames that engulf _ everything _: the mattress, the house, the farm, her hair, her skin, her eyes… He’s laughing. 

Loud and manic and completely unhinged, the sound echoes across the burning cottage, in pace with the pulsating flames. 

Jamison is the fire. 

The destructive rage, the insatiable desire, the fear-turned-anger-turned-madness of the flames. 

And he’ll devour 

(_ destroy _) 

everything. 

Jamison is crying. 

-*-

He wakes up alone in his own room at Rutledge farm towards the break of dawn. 

He’s been tossing and turning in his sleep, tangling his only leg in the cover, and he’s coated head to toe in sweat. His right arm is hurting. 

The one that isn’t there anymore. 

It feels like it’s burning.   
As quick and brutal as a hit to the head, the dream comes back to him. 

“FffffffUCK,” he stumbles out of the bed. Suddenly, he can’t stand the thought of any more sleep. He run a hand against his face. It comes back wet with tears. “fuck!” 

Shaking like a leaf, he jump to the dresser on his one leg, not taking the time to attach the prosthetic, and start looking through his underwear drawer. Finally, he find what he’s looking for. 

Without hesitation, care or thought to the fact that it’s 4:17 A.M. on a tuesday, he force open the plastic cork and downs five deep mouthfuls of burning fireball whiskey. 

The warmth of it swims uncomfortably in his otherwise empty stomach, reminding him far too much about his nightmare. He takes another gulp, trying to numb the feeling, the indignity of it all. If he just drinks enough, he won’t feel or remember anything by the end of the day. 

-*-

It took a lot of weeks to establish their trust, but ever since Jamison started helping her around the farm, Satya has gradually allowed herself to take more time with her morning routine.

Today is that kind of a day. 

It’s a shamelessly warm morning in early june, two weeks after Jamison found her grandfather’s grave. Despite being shadowed by the mountains for most of the day, her cottage is exposed to the eastern sunlight, and since it isn’t air-conditioned her poor little table fan [1] is having to work overtime. 

Unlike her. 

Who is, quite possibly for the first time in her life, snuggled into bed and contemplating just… staying there. Not because of apathy or a lack of energy, like in the past, but because she _ can _. She has no meetings arranged for the day, no work that require her immediate attention, and she has a lovely book on architectural history waiting for her on her bedside table. 

Later, she might get up and make tea, or take a walk around the farm. She can use todays eggs to make some pancakes… perhaps Jamison would enjoy them for brunch with her? He’s been working really hard lately, with the changing of the season, she’d like to show him some appreciation for it. That’s… a thing she can do, right? Invite him to brunch? She’s sure it’s fine, they’re friends now after all, she thinks, how could they not be? And Sanjay, her own boss and the very definition of professionalism, used to take her out to lunch every now and then. Granted, it was usually to talk about some big architectural project or another, but it’s fine, really, there’s always a million and more things to discuss about the farm, she’s sure that they’ll find something work appropriate. 

For now though, she’ll hit the snooze button and stay in bed, just a little bit longer… 

The time is 8:34 A.M when she finally admit defeat against the heat and escape into a cold shower. It’s too warm for yoga (or doing much of anything at all, really), but she takes the time to do some of her breathing exercises while under the water. 

After taking her medication, doing her makeup and getting dressed, she prepares breakfast. It’s almost 9:30 A.M and Jamison still hasn’t delivered any eggs, which is… odd, but not unheard of. Usually, he’s knocking on her door by 9 A.M, balancing the eggs in his hands. But he might be otherwise occupied, or the hens just didn’t deliver this morning. She makes a mental note to go over their diet again, maybe do some googling on how to optimise their egg-laying. 

She takes a quick look out of the window, but no matter where she looks, she can’t see Jamison. 

That’s… nothing to worry about. 

It’s a big farm, after all, he might be out on the fields, or in the old barn, or inside the coop, it’s fine, he’s there, it’s fine. 

Suddenly desperate for something to occupy herself with, Satya clean up the remains of her breakfast. She does the dishes, vacuums and dusts the place off. Cleans the bathroom, her bedroom and the kitchen, that has to be spot-free next week, when she and Torbjörn have scheduled to tear out the old floorboards and replacing them with tile. 

There will be underfloor heating, a new coat of paint on the walls and sleek, modern furniture. It’s the first real step towards making the cabin not only habitable, but marketable! Satya lose herself in the rhythm of cleaning and the lull of her daydreams for a while, before checking the time again. 

10:14 A.M. 

Still no eggs. 

There’s a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach now that just won’t go away. 

What if he needs help? What if he’s unwell, or if something collapsed over him in the barn, or if he fell into the old well and is still down there, drowning as she’s thinking about cupboards?! Or what if it’s a sunday and she just got the days wrong? 

She checks and, nope, it’s definitely tuesday, and he should be out there, he probably is, she trusts him, she didn’t in the beginning but he’s earned it by now, so he’s out there, because he has to be, she’s counting on him. 

Satya stops herself from scratching at her neck before she’s even begun. She give it a light squeeze instead. 

Maybe she’ll take that walk now. 

-*-

He’s not here. 

Not on the fields, not in the barn, not by the little vegetable garden he’d replanted for her (complete with signs now, that says what’s growing in big scratchy letters and cartoonish drawings, a smiley here and there. She’d found them delightful when he’d presented them to her, but now she wants to crush them with the heel of her shoe). The only things she find in the coop are the chickens, that hasn’t been fed or cleaned up after or let out this morning, thank you very not at all. They look at her with big, questioning eyes and Satya make a silent vow that Jamison better be drowning in that well or she’ll make him _ wish _that he was… 

Of course, he’s not down there either. 

So, after spending the better part of the noon and afternoon doing his job for him, she clean herself up and make the twenty minute walk through the forest, to Rutledge’s farm. 

She doesn’t need to say much for mr Rutledge to understand what’s going on. The second she steps into the building, something dark pass over his features, and then he’s leading her to the other side of the room, to Jamison’s bedroom door. 

He opens it without knocking, and though Satya can’t see what’s on the other side from behind him, she can’t help but notice the way that he momentarily freeze in the doorframe. 

“Jaime, ya’ moron…” he grumble, before stepping back out of the room and closing the door. 

“Wait here.” 

He leave the building. Satya stare at the door, a growing feeling of unease building steadily inside of her, until he returns with… a bucket?  
Mr Rutledge move for the bedroom, then stop, mid movement. Slowly, he turn to her. 

“Y’sure ye wanna be here for this? It ain’t pretty.” 

“I’m… sure I can handle it. Whatever is going on.” Satya says, not even believing it herself. 

He give her another assessing look, before turning the door handle with a grunt. 

“Maybe she’ll scare some sense into him…” she hear him mumble. 

Unsure how to or even if she’s supposed to respond, Satya follow him into the room without further comment. It’s, initially, covered in darkness, but mr Rutledge pull the switch on their way in and suddenly they’re blinded by the light. 

As Satya’s eyesight comes to, she discover that the room? Is a mess. 

There’s empty cans of various alcoholic liquid scattered all over the place, in a jungle of used clothes, dirty dishes and… is that _ gunpowder _?! She takes a careful step over a pair of old underwear, wrapped in what she realise with a sinking feeling is an empty can of McCree’s finest homebrew. The ones that she got Jamie for his birthday. 

And right there, in the midst of the mess on the floor, nursing an empty bottle of fireball whiskey, is Jamison. He’s out cold and unmoving, laying like a ragdoll with his limbs sprawled out all over the place, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. An attempt has been made and then abandoned to attach his prosthetic leg, it’s tied around his thigh all wrong and has twisted into an odd angle in his sleep. For a second, she fear the worst. 

Then he release a loud, ugly snore, and just like that all of Satya’s concern turn back into the anger that she’s been fanning all day. 

“Give me that.” 

She take the bucket from mr Rutledge, hating the way that her hands shake. Without hesitation, she walk up to Jamison, wait for him to open his mouth for another snore, then dump the water over his face. 

The effect is instantaneous. 

The blonde try to throw himself up from off of the ground, falls flat on his face due to the twisted prosthetic, coughs and splutters from the water, and maybe it was a little bit mean to pour it right into his open mouth, but Satya doesn’t have the patience to feel bad for him right now. Mr Rutledge looks impressed with her, anyway. 

“Wh-what the-” he sits up on the floor, rubbing at his eyes with the one hand. “what the FUC-” 

Then he turn to her and pale. 

“Hello, Jamison.” 

“G-”, the word sticks in his mouth, and it’s almost admirable how he’s attempting to establish eye contact with her through the obvious haze of alcohol in his system. He tries again, “g’day, lo-I’mean-mate-I’mean… boss.” 

“**Jamison Maximilian Fawkes** ,” [2] mr Rutledge cut in, in that tone of voice that demand everyone’s attention, no argument nor bullshit. Satya has heard him use it on Zenyatta once, when the teen had been caught painting the cows blue. The experience was haunting. Perhaps there was a little room in her heart for pity, after all? “what were you **thinking**?!” 

“NghkIwasjustahhgnkOY! Don’t ya go all… judgey, on me, mr… judgey mcJudger…” 

It’s, apparently, the wrong thing to say. 

With a low growl that make Jamison squeal and shuffle backwards into the wall, mr Rutledge walk up to him, grabbing the now empty bucket from out of Satya’s hands on the way. 

He crouch down and fix the younger male with a stern look, placing the bucket next to him on the floor. 

“I want’cha to clean this place up. And yerself, cuz ya’ stink-” Jamison laugh, high and nervous, but mr Rutledge cut him off again with another growl. “but most importantly, I want ya to apologize to miss Vaswani.” 

Jamie look back at her and Satya feel something inside of her break at the sight of him, wet and scared on the floor. This moment is… intimate, she shouldn’t be here to see him like this. 

“Y’need to start treating her with more respect,” mr Rutledge says, as he stands to leave. “or ye’ll be out of a job again, and then what will ya do? Hm, Jamison? What’re ya gonna do with yer life?” 

Jamison turn his gaze to the floor, to which he mumble something imperceptible. 

“**Speak up.**”

“I said!” He snarls, something almost feral in his eyes. “I probably ain’t sticking around long enough to _ need _a plan!” 

A heavy silence fall over them. 

Slowly, mr Rutledge release a long, shuddering breath and turn to leave. 

He won’t look up from the floor. 

The sound of the door closing after him is earth shattering. 

“‘m sorry…” Jamison mumble, and when Satya look back at him his face is twisted into a sad grimace. He’s fighting and quickly losing against the tears in his eyes. “I didn’t… didn’t mean that.” 

Satya force herself to look away for a moment, taking a long, steadying breath, before she close the distance between them and sits down in front of him. She place a hand on his knee and stare at it, trying not to think too hard on the fact that he’s practically naked before her. 

“It’s alright.” 

He makes a small, broken sound and before she knows what she’s doing, she’s reaching out to him, cradling his neck with her hands. Jamison slumps his head against her shoulder like a puppet with a broken string. The rest of his body is taunt like a bow and kept carefully away from her touch. He’s crying, silently at first, but as she massage her fingers against his neck and into the blonde, unruly tresses of his hair, it turn into loud, ugly sobs. 

“It’s alright… It’s alright, Jamison, Jamie… it’s alright…” 

They stay like that for a while. 

Minutes, hours, days, Satya can’t tell. She spend the time silently cursing the effects of alcohol, listening to Jamison’s breathing as he, slowly, begin to calm down. She counts the freckles on his back. They spread beneath her fingers like a starry sky. 

Finally, Jamison pulls back and Satya, regretfully, allow him. 

He sniffs, running his hand against his face and avert his gaze to the floor. 

“Thanks.” 

“It’s alright.” 

“I’ve-pfft, yeah I’ve…” he smiles at her. She doesn’t understand. “I’ve heard that.” 

Confused, she stand up, and wipe some invisible dust off of her clothes just for the sake of having something to do. 

Jamison looks like he’d like to join her up there, if only he could. 

“I’ll help you with that,” she nods towards the prosthetic. “and the room.” 

“Oh, no I… I usually do it m’self, ye’ve done so much already, I’ll just-” 

“Jamie,” 

He stills. Look up at her. Swallow. 

“I’ll help you.” 

Once Jamison has his leg-prosthetic on properly, he’s quick to put on a pair of pants, grabbed from the closest pile of dirty clothes. They’re a little big on his spindly hips, but in terms of decency she suppose that they’ll do. It’s not like he usually wears a lot more while working, always too eager to take his shirt off… not that she’s noticed. 

They spend the following thirty minutes cleaning up the worst of the mess in the room. Once all of the cans have been collected in the bucket, the clothes folded and organized in a laundry basket that he miraculously actually own, and the dirty dishes have been returned to the dishwasher in the kitchen, Jamie retire to the bathroom for a much needed shower. 

While he’s gone, she mop up the puddle on the floor (she’s the one that poured the water, after all… it’s only right), open the windows to get some fresh air in, and then get to work writing. 

-*-

She’s still here. 

Forty five minutes later, that he’s spent on the floor of the shower agonizing over the events of both night and day; the embarrassment of it all, the hurt on Mako’s face, and the forbidden thoughts like 

how her hands felt running through his hair 

the sound of his name on her lips, 

fuck him dead, if the dreams were bad before, then how is he supposed to go on _ existing _now that he knows the feel of her so close?! 

She’s still here. 

In his room, sitting by his desk, working on something, by the looks of it. 

“should’ve known I’d find ya’ up to some hard yakka.” 

Satya jumps, startled by the sound of his voice. 

“Jamison.” She gather something to her chest, a piece of paper? Before standing up. “You took your time. I was beginning to wonder if I’d have to go in there and make sure you hadn’t drowned.” 

“Please, I wasn’t _ that _legless!” 

… 

“or, maybe, for a while there I kinda was, actually.” 

“Yes.” She agrees, but he’s pleased to see that she’s smiling, finally. It took him long enough to learn how to make her smile, he wouldn’t want to have ruined that now. “Yes you were.” 

Satya walks up to him and hands him the piece of paper. 

“Here, for you.” 

“What’s this, then?” 

“A mental health-checklist...” 

He look at the writing, but is still just a tad bit too drunk to concentrate on all of the words (there are _ a lot _ of them). Still, he manage to make out something that looks like “did you spend some time in the sunshine today?” and another sentence that looks like “did you take some me-time?”.

He’s… really not sure what she wants him to do with this. Then he realize that it might help to listen to what she’s saying if he wants to find out. 

“...made me do one quite similar to this. I still use mine, occasionally, to check in with myself. Of course, it won’t cure you…” 

Cure him? From what? 

“but it might help with your overall health. It usually aids to establish a sense of… control. Over yourself and your surroundings. And, who knows, it might help you realize some things about yourself, as well…” her voice is steady, but her hands are fidgeting and she won’t look him in the eyes. 

She’s nervous. 

This is… important to her? For some reason?  
So, Jamie suppose that he might as well play along. For her sake. 

“‘Aight.” 

Finally, she turn to him, and the hopeful look on her face makes his heart skip. 

“You’ll use it?” 

“I don’t see why not.” 

She smile up at him and he’s completely powerless to stop the wave of affection rushing through him at the sight. 

Then she take a quick look out of the window and glance down at the floor. 

“I should probably leave.” 

“Oh. Yeah, of course… Thanks for all the… yeah-” 

“It was no trouble, really-” 

“ooooh it was. Sorry, ‘bout that, just… don’t pay me fer a couple of days-” 

“No, I insist, this wasn’t your fault, I’ll write it off as sick leave-” 

“y’don’t have to do that.” 

“Oh, but I _ do _-” 

“I was just… being an idiot today, m’sorry-” 

“No, Jamison, mental health is serious. You’re **sick** , _ I’m _ sorry that I didn’t recognize that sooner...” 

She keeps talking, but suddenly, Jamie can’t hear a word of what she’s saying. 

_ You’re _ ** _sick_ ** ... sick, sick, sick, Jamison Fawkes you are **sick. **It’s echoing through his head, filling him with a dangerous kind of cool. 

Oh. 

Oh so that’s what this is about. 

When he looks at her again, it’s all that he can see. 

The pity. 

He should have known. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, right? Or… would you like another day off, just in case-” 

“No. No I’ll see ya’ in the morning.” 

He’s startled her. Somehow, the cold managed to find its way into his voice, but it’s not like he’s in any sort of position to stop it by now, he’s way too busy repeating **that word** in his head, over and over and over again. 

Sick, sick, sick, sick, sick, _ sick, sick, sick, sick, _ **sick** ** _. _ **

He’s heard that word ascribed to him by so many people. Schoolmates, teachers, coworkers, bosses, his ma’... it’s just… been a while now. It caught him off guard. And he never expected to hear it from _ her _. 

Satya finally leave him with a tentative smile and a wave. 

Somehow, he suspect that his answering grin isn’t too convincing. 

Once she’s gone, Jamison tears her list to pieces and scatter them around the newly cleaned room like confetti. 

-*-

True to his word, Jamison is back at work the following day and, for a few, hopeful hours, Satya think that things are normal between them. Maybe the events at Rutledge farm had even, dare she dream, brought them closer together? That seem to have been the case after they spent that day by the grave, anyway. In a way, it had been a turning point for them. Afterwards, their polite greetings turned into something genuinely affectionate, and they went from casually trying to avoid running into each other to Satya searching him out, even contemplating inviting him to brunch. 

But that morning when Jamison knock on her door to deliver the eggs, 9 A.M sharp, he won’t look her in the eyes. There’s nothing impolite about his behavior per say, he says good morning, nods along with her (very brief attempt at) smalltalk (she’s never been very good at it) and there’s something like a smile on his face, though Satya’s having an unusually difficult time deciphering it. He’s usually so expressive, she find him easier to read than most, it’s partially why she’s grown so at ease around him.  
Feeling a bit frustrated with his dodgy behavior, Satya decide to push, just a little. 

“Would you like to come in later?”

He actually startles a little at that, looking at her like she’s grown a second head. 

“I was thinking about making some pancakes, but I always tend to make too many and, you…” 

She smiles. He looks down at the ground. 

“you’ve been working so hard lately.” It’s a lame argument, she knows, but she can’t seem to find any more words. 

Jamison is obviously deep in thought, flickering his eyes back and forth between her and the ground, and for a moment, she allow herself to hope. 

“Thanks, but…” the moment is short lived. “Nah, thanks.” 

He declined. 

Somehow, in all of her careful scheming, she’d failed to include rejection as a possible outcome. 

Feeling more hurt than she probably should, considering the circumstances, she let him return to work. After spending an embarrassing amount of time running the interaction over in her head, she finally decide to write his odd behaviour off on the account that he’s tired, probably, it’s been a stressful couple of days after all. He’s obviously depressed, so there’s no wonder that he might need some time for himself. 

But then the behaviour continues, becomes a pattern. He remains just as distant, just as wary of her company, all throughout the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, until it’s been over a week since they’ve had a decent conversation. 

She tries to give him space in the beginning, until she grows too frustrated with the way that he’ll hardly even look at her anymore. Then, armoring herself with the thought that his depression must be making him isolate himself, she begin to search him out while he’s working. Never much of a talker, Satya desperately tries to spark conversations with him, about the farm and the chickens, about his family, about their common hatred of pickles, but no matter what topic she dangle in front of him he won’t bite. Instead, he’ll offer a smile or two, maybe mumble some acknowledgements, all while looking very, _ very _uncomfortable. Like she’s disturbing him. Invading his space. 

So, eventually, she stops. Allow their relationship to take a step back into polite greetings in the mornings and casually trying not to run into each other during the days. Perhaps that’s where they’ve always been, and she’s just failed to notice his unease prior to this? 

For all that she can tell, he seem happier like this. More comfortable. 

It shouldn’t hurt. 

He’s her employee, after all, here to do a job and then go back home to his own family, his own interests, his own life. It’s only natural that an employee wouldn’t be all too interested in entertaining his (quite lonely, she’s beginning to realise) employer. 

It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. 

Still, there doesn’t seem to be any right options available for her other than to leave Jamison alone. So, Satya does what Satya does best, and begin to distract herself from her feelings with work. She spend her days engaged in the kitchen renovations with a renewed sense of vigor, either working by herself or together with Torbjörn, and her evenings either developing pictures with Hanzo or at the bar with Moira. Spending so much time around the Lindholm-residence has also made her interactions with Sombra into a more regular occurrence. The other woman seldom leave the house (or even her room), except to smoke, which she does with an (to Satya) admirable dedication to schedule, at 10:30 P.M. every evening by the lake. So, Satya has begun to, ever so casually, just _ happen _ to walk past when she knows that Sombra will be there, and if she’s ever late then Sombra will just _ happen _ to stay out a little bit longer than usual.  
They don’t talk about it. 

Instead, they talk about Stardew, their work (Sombra is a freelance programmer, working from home) or the dangers of smoking, that Satya like to remind the other woman of at every given opportunity. 

“So, you’ll come with us to the Luau, right, amante? It won’t be any fun without you there!” 

The “us” in this situation are Sombra, Hana and Lucio, and the Luau is, apparently, another Stardew tradition (this one is, thankfully, dance-optional), set at the beach each summer. 

Satya had given it some previous thought, and decided that she wasn’t planning to attend. The Rutledge-household will be there and the thought of spending time with them makes her feel like a bunch of snakes slithered down her belly and made a nest in there. That is to say: immensely uncomfortable. But there’s really no use fighting against Sombra’s puppy-eyes, they’re simply far too powerful, and Satya must admit to being flattered by her praise. It’s not often that someone imply that her company will be “fun”. Pleasant or intellectually stimulating, perhaps, but never fun. 

Besides, the odds of running into Him are a lot smaller if she attends as part of a group. 

“May I bring some friends along as well? Hanzo Shimada and/or Moira O’Deorain?” This would further decrease the likelihood. 

“They’re a bit of a couple of wet blankets, but sure! The more nerds the merrier!” 

“Excellent.” Satya take the others hand in hers and give it a quick, professional shake. “It’s a date.” 

Sombra laugh, flustered. 

“You’re so romantic, el cariño! Watch out, or I’ll fall for you.” 

Somehow, she make it sound more like a promise than a threat.

-*-

He’s here. 

Of course he’s here, she knew well in advance that he would be, and it’s _ silly, _incredibly so, considering that she has to face him six days a week, but seeing him here, away from their routine at the farm, feels strange in the worst way. 

Satya can’t deny, though, that Jamison looks… happy. 

Happier than she’s seen him in a long while, which is a solemn thought, considering the fact that the only thing differing from the equation of his life seems to be her. 

He’s sitting on the other end of the longtable with mr Rutledge, Zenyatta and Genji, talking animatedly in that way of his where he use his entire body to get his points across. His one foot is buried in the sand, which Satya find incredulous, because it’s practically burning in the heat, and the prosthetic has been equipped with a duct taped croc to keep him from sinking. 

Genji says something that make him laugh until there’s tears in his eyes, and it takes all of Satya’s willpower not to glare at the younger Shimada until his stupid green-haired head falls off. Instead, she decide to stick to her original plan: ignore Jamison and anyone associated with him for the remainder of the luau. 

She’s so busy doing this that she doesn’t notice either Sombra’s or Hanzo’s attempt at communicating with her. 

“Ugh,” the photographer sigh, stuck in between Satya, that’s been pretending that she hasn't been staring shamelessly at Fawkes ever since they got here, and Moira, that’s not even trying to hide her lovelorn gazes towards Ziegler. “I need a drink.” 

“Ask and ye shall receive, Shimada!” Jesse McCree appear behind him in a flash, a half-emptied bottle of whiskey in hand, from which he pours a generous amount into Hanzo’s cup. 

Flustered, he stutter out a thanks. 

“It’s no problem, always happy to help a friend in need. Aaand if you’re interested in a bit more of that then, aahahaha,” He laughs, and Hanzo find himself thinking that it really isn’t fair how handsome he is, even while wearing that ridiculous cowboy-hat. “I recommend the soup.” 

He wink, leaving Hanzo behind to do some staring of his own. 

At the mention of soup, Satya slowly stir from her totally-not-a-staring-spree, to look around and take in her more immediate surroundings. She’s a bit hungry, but the soup is a potluck with all kinds of meat and dairy products swimming around in it, so she can’t eat that (she’d still contributed though, with some homegrown radishes from the garden). Instead, she ask Hana to pass her the bread. She eat it dry, since she didn’t think to bring a substitute for butter with her. It’s… incredibly plain, but it will have to do. 

Suddenly, she spot some unusual movement out of the corner of her eyes. 

Zenyatta and Genji are on the move towards Winston and that strange, big city governor, mr Siebren de Kuiper, that’s visiting. This would have been suspicious enough on it’s own, but what _ really _sets Satya’s internal alarm-bells off are the fact that Jamison and mr Rutledge? Are missing. 

She begins to scan the crowd, looking for them. How is it possible that two such ridiculously large people can blend in so seamlessly with a party full of usual-sized persons? It has to be some kind of a superpower. And, on the account of Jamison, his terrible posture. 

Finally, she spot them by the tub full of soup, and suddenly it all makes sense. While Genji and Zenyatta are distracting Winston and the governor, they’re taking the opportunity to sneak something into the food… something purple, and large, and, is that a…? 

“No!” She find herself gasping, but just as she’s about to rise and intervene, someone grabs her arm from across the table. 

“Sssshhhh, leave them be, sweetheart. Leave them be.” Ana Amari-Wilhelm is looking from between Satya to the two idiots, that have just managed to plant and stirr a pair of big, purple boxer shorts into the soup. Her one eye is shining mischievously. “You wouldn’t know, of course, being new here and all, but trying to prank Winston during the luau is a Stardew tradition!” 

“Oh. So… it’s fine then?” 

“Yes, of course, dear! He loves it just as much as everyone else! Finds it hilarious even,” She loosen her grip and give her a reassuring pat on the arm instead. “so don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” 

Satya can’t help but worry anyway. 

She’s almost always worrying about something, at least a little bit, after all.

She worries as she watch Jamison and mr Rutledge sneak away from the soup, snickering between themselves like a couple of school children. 

She worries as she watch mayor Winston approach said soup and make his speech, calling the villagers “his friends” (her included, she can only assume with a stab of guilt), saying things like:  
“I trust that you all put your best ingredients in the pot this year!” (Jamison’s snort of laughter is so loud that she’s surprised they didn’t check for some kind of a trap immediately), 

and 

“We don’t want governor Kuiper to regret his visit to the valley!” 

She become _ increasingly _worried as the ape invites the governor to “do the honor of tasting the soup”. She’s practically vibrating with it as the governor is given a bowl, as he approach the soup, as he close his eyes to smell it and then reach down, down, down, into the grimy unknown, only to return with a bowl full of… 

“Are these… someone’s soup-covered underwear?” 

If gorillas could blush, Satya is sure that mayor Winston would be crimson right now. 

Curiously, Reinhardt, sitting dutifully at his wife Ana’s side, seem to be blushing just as much. 

“Who DID THIS?!” Winston roars across the crowd, and suddenly the Rutledge-company are all (except, of course, for mr Rutledge himself) erupting into laughter. Jamison is, naturally, the center of it all: cackling the loudest and the brightest. 

The amusement seem to be contagious, because before they know it, other people are snickering, and soon the whole table seem to be laughing along with them. Winston stalks up to the gang of pranksters and try to have a stern talk with them, but they’re struggling just to stop giggling, constantly setting each other off in new waves of glee. 

Meanwhile, the governor, still standing where mayor Winston left him, seem fairly undisturbed by it all. Instead of discarding the bowl full of underwear-soup, he make the decision to eat around the clothing, smiling a bit at the taste. 

Such a strange man. 

The sight makes mrs Amari-Wilhelm weeze with laughter. 

“Ana…” Satya is so upset that she forgets about the honorifics, turning to the older woman with Murder in her eyes. Mrs Amari-Wilhelm has the good sense to shut up. “if when I die, I’m reborn as a dung-beetle for this, I need you to know that I will find you. No matter where or who you are, I’ll search all of the grand illusion, travel the entire moonlit path, _ anything _to find your jiva. And then, I will make you pay.” 

“Oooooohhhh, GIRL!” Sombra laugh, rallying the others into impressed cheers. “Damn, amante, you really did _ snap _just now! I knew this party would be more fun with you here!” 

Ana raise her glass to toast with a smile, and the others (Sombra, Hana, Lucio, Moira, even Hanzo and Reinhardt) follow. 

“To Satya, the scariest dung-beetle that’s ever threatened me!” 

They toast and cheer and laugh, surrounding Satya on all sides with their bumbling, supportive friendship. If they were any other people, it might have been suffocating. But this feels… nice. 

Still, Satya makes sure to hide her smile behind a cup of lemonade. 

If she’d bothered to look up just then, towards the other end of the table, she might have seen that Jamison is watching her, a miserable look on his face. 

-*-

Turning those pancakes down had been easy peasy. 

He’d still been angry then, enough to feel like he’d overflow with it. Jamison didn’t want her to see it though, didn’t want her to know the hurt she’d caused. Most of all, he didn’t want to have to voice or try to reason it, either to Satya or himself. It was still too fresh. 

So he smiled and nodded along with her smalltalk (and he did notice all of the effort she made to reach out to him. If he wasn’t so _ angry _, he would have appreciated it) and tried to tell her in every way except vocal to back the fuck off. 

Finally, after about a week, she seemed to get the message. 

And after that, the anger become increasingly difficult to hold onto. 

Every mumbled good morning, every hurt glance, every time he saw her hesitate before moving around the farm, like she was afraid to run into him, began to hurt in a way that wasn’t angry anymore, just… sad.  
It took him a while to realise that he's feeling lonely. 

Which really isn’t fair, because she _ clearly _hasn’t considered him as anything but a charity case up until now, she’d made that plain as day during their last real conversation! She’d hired him out of some twisted sense of obligation to Mako, then befriended him out of pity. Jamison tell himself this, over and over again, trying desperately to fan the anger into a proper fire once again. 

But this… she’s never made it so difficult for him as in this moment. 

Satya is sitting on the unfinished kitchen floor, hiding her face in her hands, breathing heavy and uneven. To her left is a pile of cracked marble plates. She must have dropped them.  
Torbjörn is crouched before her, talking to her in a calm, soothing voice. As Jamison watch from the open doorway, he realize that the little man is trying to guide her through it, breathing with her, and suddenly it’s obvious how he’s been able to raise nine children and a stray. He’s just so… gentle. 

She twist her head a little to look at the swede, and when she does her hair, worn out today, falls out of the way to reveal red, ugly scratches all over the back of her neck. 

Jamie stifle a gasp. He chance a glance down at her hands, that are in Torbjörns now, but he doesn’t need to see them to know that the wounds are self inflicted, that those fingers are stained with blood and the nails have pieces of impossibly soft, brown, torn off skin underneath them. 

Suddenly, it’s all he can see. His vision is swimming with it.  
He’s feeling dizzy. 

“Jamie?” She try to force the sob out of her voice, unsuccessfully. 

And just like that, whatever remained of his anger disappear. 

“I was just…” he stutter, trying to navigate through this sudden onslaught of feelings and thoughts and _ realisations _. “just clocking out for the day, boss.” 

She looks like she might try to stand up, but Torbjörn keep her in place with a gentle tug. She settle instead for straightening her back and giving him a professional nod, even as tears are running down her cheeks, even as she won’t meet his eyes. 

“Good work today, mr Fawkes. I trust that I’ll see you back at work in the morning.” 

“Y’know… it wasn’t that long ago ya’ told me to take the day off for something a lot like this. Mental health’s important, right?” He hear himself say. She meet his eyes, incredulous, and Jamison is a little embarrassed to realize that this is the first time they’ve talked about that day. “Don’t’cha think maybe _ you _deserve a sickday every now and then? Doesn’t seem fair when ye’re always the one doing the real hard yakka.”

“Jamison-” her face is all scrunched up, and there’s not a single fibre in Jamie’s body that isn’t _ screaming _at him to go to her, push Torbjörn aside and gather her up in his arms until he’s melted the anxiety out of her like a wax candle before a flame. 

Instead, he hear himself say: 

“Don’t worry, boss, I’ll be in tomorrow. But I don’t wanna see ya working until yer feeling better, y’hear me? Or I swear on me grandma’s grave I’ll go running to Torbjörn over there and have him force ya’ into a sickbed. Ain’t that right, Torby?” 

“Ay.” 

“Ay. G’day mates!” 

Heart racing, he makes the trek through the woods home as fast as he can. It’s another scorchingly warm day, so once he’s arrived he’s drenched head to toe in sweat, but that’s the least of his concerns. Before anyone’s had the opportunity to ask, he stumbles into the old farmhouse, going straight for the kitchen to retrieve a roll of plastic tape. Then he stumbles back into his room, ignoring Mako’s questioning grunt as he pass, and begin to assemble the scattered pieces of paper on the floor. 

After half an hour of crawling around on the ground and another hour of puzzling the paper back together, Jamison is finally sitting with the one and only copy of “Satya’s mental health-checklist” in his hand, prepared to make an Effort. 

It reads as follows: 

Did you get out of bed today? 

Did you spend some time in the sunshine? 

Have you showered recently? 

Did you take some me-time? 

Did you wash your face? 

Did you do something kind for yourself? 

Did you take your medicine (if any) as prescribed? 

Did you remember how competent you are? 

Did you remember how worthy you are? 

After actually taking the time to read what Satya wrote 

(for _ him _, he can’t help but think 

she took the time and the effort to think and to write this with _ him _in mind and he’s been 

_ such _

an idiot) 

Jamie decide to write some additions of his own:  


  1. Apologise  
(because he’s been a dick) 
  2. Show Satya the Job  
(because he’s been working on it all summer and she doesn’t even know) 

Confess the Feelings  
(he’s still struggling to put it into words, but he owes her, and himself, a bloody try at least.  
And he figures that once she’s rejected him, he can try to move on)

-*- 

[1] A gift from Torbjörn, after he’d visited and realised that the cabin turned into a SAUNA in the summer.

[2] Yes, I gave Jamison a middle name. You can’t express proper Parental Discontent without a middle name, that’s what middle names are FOR, right??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come scream with me about these two losers over at my tumblr:  
https://reaperduckling.tumblr.com/


	3. always the summers are slipping away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2/2 of summer.  
The one where they communicate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: description of self harm (not explicit), some #Real conversations about mental health (but what else is new with this fanfic) and a funky sexdream scene towards the end of the chapter
> 
> Beta'd by falloutboiruto

When Jamison first started working at Utopaea-farm, he almost lost another leg to the rotting husk of a nightmare that is The Barn. 

He’d been chasing one of the chook’s, Michelangelo, trying to put a red bandana around her neck for a ninja turtles-inspired photoshoot, when the absolute madlad made a dash into the barn and disappeared. Jamison tried to follow, but when he entered the building the rotten floor gave out beneath his left foot. He fell, shrieked and found himself stuck, in that order, for about fifteen minutes. During these, Michelangelo strutted around him,  _ mocking him _ , while he swore and struggled and, at one point, tried to chew his leg off. He already had two prosthetics after all, what’s one more? But Satya found him before he’d been able to disfigure himself, intrigued by the open barn door and the steady stream of swearing she’d heard from all across the other side of the farm. She’d called for Torbjörn, and together the two of them managed to wrangle Jamison out of the barnfloor. 

If Jamison hadn’t been so embarrassed, or so flustered that she’d been touching him (and if Mako hadn’t found out what he’d been doing and gone crook), Jamison’s reaction to the debacle would have been to blow the barn into a million pieces. But since expressing that thought aloud made Mako lock his explosives up, Jamie decided on the next best thing: making it habitable again. 

So, for the past few months, when he hasn’t been busy caring for the chooks or the vegetable garden (he’d replanted some strawberries for Satya, remembering how much she seemed to enjoy the ones at his birthday party), he’s been hard at work on the barn. 

The first thing he did was tear out those old, rotten floorboards. Then he hammered in some new ones, failed spectacularly, asked Torbjörn for advice (discreetly!), watched some youtube videos, and tried again. 

Once the floors were safe enough to move around on, he decided to tidy the place up a little. He spent the following days sweeping floors and dusting cobwebs, throwing out old, rotten hay and scaring away rats. He even made and placed some non-kill, humane traps out and relocated as many rodents as he could out into the forest, as far away from the farm as he could go without raising suspicion with the boss. Jamison isn’t sure why he’s not telling her what he’s working on, except that it will make for one hell of a surprise.    
Then the  _ Incident _ happened, and the thought of surprising Satya lost a lot of its charm… and yet, he kept up the work. 

Once he was done cleaning out the bottom floor, Jamison braved the spindly, creaking old ladder to get to the loft. Which is were he found… 

“the SHUTTER!” He gesture towards it, making sure to get his best dramatical flair in. 

Satya raise a bemused eyebrow. 

“The… shutter?” 

“Yeah, y’know, this big ceiling-window-thing,” He gesture towards it some more. She doesn’t seem too impressed, so he compensates by flailing his hands around a lot. “yer not seeing the possibilities here, mate! Just… get over here, c’mon, I’ll show you.” Jamie throw himself into the hay, down on his back. It’s not soft, exactly, like you think it will be from watching those country romance movies Mako loves, but it’s comfortable enough. The hatch is open above him, and he look up at the bright blue summer sky. The day’s a real beaut, perfect for watching the clouds roll by. “C’mon, mate! It’s fine, promise. Chased all the rats out weeks ago.” 

“Rats?” 

Despite the trepidation in her voice, Satya sit down next to him in the hay, slowly turning her face towards the open window in the roof. Unthinking (or so he assume), she place her hand inches from Jamison’s mechanical one. He watch it, suddenly dry in the mouth and empty in the head. If he just… shifted a little bit to the left, then he might even be touching her a little. He could put his hand next to hers, and she might curl her pinky around his, and he wouldn’t even be able to physically  _ feel it  _ but it still seems like it would be  _ everything.  _

“This right here’s the perfect place for…” he finally force himself to continue, trying to sell the magic of this room to her. “well just about everything, really! Dinner parties! Tea! Firework-shows! Or just, y’know… Relaxing after a long day of hard yakka.” 

“I could bring a book here… maybe watch the stars.” He can’t see her face, but he thinks that she might be smiling. The thought is almost enough to send him for another mental loop. 

“Y-yeah… yeah, ya could do that.” 

He can’t help it anymore. Jamison tear his gaze away from the clouds, prop himself up on an elbow and turn to glance at her. When he does, he find her staring at him, a strange look on her face. 

He couldn’t stop the blush if he tried. She’s just… so bloody beautiful, bathed in the sunlight. 

“Satya-” 

“Jamison-” 

They begin at the same time. Stare at each other. Then laugh, awkwardly. 

“I’m sorry, you go first…” 

“Nah, that’s alright, love, speak yer mind...”    
“I just-”, Satya begin, then interrupt herself. She seem to be running some kind of mental gymnastics in her head, looking away with a very faraway expression on her face. Wherever it is that she’s going, it seem to be making her sad. Jamison find himself wishing that he could follow her there. He wants to pull her out of the dark thoughts and bring her back here, to him in the sunshine. She gather her hands to her knees and look down at them. “I wanted to apologize,” 

Jamie is in such a hurry to sit up that he almost falls over. 

“for making you uncomfortable, for burdening you in any way. I’m not entirely certain what it is that I said that upset you, but whatever it was I want you to know that it wasn’t intentional, that I’d never… I’d never want to hurt you, Jamison.” 

“No, Satya, don’t-” His hands are burning to capture hers. Instead, he settle for nudging her gently in the side. “‘m the one that should say sorry… ye were just looking out for me and I cracked the shits and acted like a mongrel cuz’ of ol’ shit that had nothing to do with ya.” She’s looking at him now, dark eyes wide on her face, and this time he’s the one who feels like escaping. It takes all of his willpower not to. “ngh, I guess what I’m… what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry, Satya.” 

“Is it alright if I ask… what it was that I said? That made you,” she makes quotations with her hands, making him smile. “‘crack the shits’, as you said. I don’t wish to pry, I just wouldn’t want to accidentally repeat the incident.” 

“Oh there’s no-” 

_ You’re  _ ** _sick_ ** _ ... sick, sick, sick, Jamison Fawkes you are  _ ** _sick._ **

He look down at his hands. 

“ye called me sick…” the words escape him in a whisper. “it’s just… it’s nothing, really, I know now that ya didn’t actually mean anything by it, it’s just that I… I ain’t got any good experience with that. That word.”

The moment seem to stretch between; hours, days, weeks and months, all in a manner of minutes.    
Then Satya reach out, gather his hands in hers and breathe: 

“Me neither…” 

A small, broken noise from the back of his throat escape him, (he’s thinking about shallow breathing and shattered floor tiles,

about blood and broken skin underneath her nails) 

and then he’s clutching her hands back with his, trying to soak in the warmth of her, the feel of her, to comfort and be comforted in return. 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t… didn’t understand then, I’m just such a mess and ye always seem so…” he look up at her, momentarily losing his breath when he sees the softness in her eyes. “perfect.” 

Another moment, long and fragile, draw them in. 

_ Could this be it? _ Jamison think.  _ Could this be the time to tell her?  _ Seeing her like this, bathed in the soft warm rays of the sun, his hands in hers with that gentle look on her face, the l-word suddenly doesn’t seem too far away from him. 

Then, a shadow cross her face and she pull her hands back to herself. 

“Perfect, huh?” She smile, but there’s something off about it, something bitter. Jamison can only watch, powerless, as the moment escape him. “I can assure you, Jamison, that that’s nothing but a carefully orchestrated facade.” 

He hears himself giggle, confused and disappointed. 

“Yeah? Could’ve fooled me… though the whole ‘cookies at the door’-thing ya pulled when ye were new was a lil’ overkill, to be honest with’cha. Should’ve known ye were faking it, no one’s  _ that  _ nice.” 

“You’re just jealous because you never had any.” 

Jamison laugh for real this time, loud and clear, only a little bit startled. The sound of it make the smile she’s wearing soften around the edges. The bitterness shrink away, back into the shadows. 

“Ya got me there.” 

-*-

Moira is missing.

She failed to show up for their last meeting at McCree’s bar. Satya waited for about an hour, feeling awkward and lonely, before she gave up and slipped back home. When she wouldn’t answer her messages the following day, and Satya continuously failed to locate her around town, she began to make inquiries with the other villagers, who seemed just as at a loss as to what the redhead was up to. Apparently, this was a  _ thing  _ with her. Disappearing for days, weeks or even months at a time, before she returned like she’d never left, as obnoxious and arrogant as always. 

Hearing this, Satya made the decision that she doesn’t  _ want  _ to wait for Moira to return days, weeks and especially not months from now. She simply doesn’t have the time for that. 

So, one rainy day in july, Satya puts on her most fashionable pair of boots, picks up an umbrella and make the walk to Moira’s beachside cabin. 

She knock on the door. Once, twice. She can hear the dogs, Sasuke and Lelouch, barking on the other side, but there’s no life-signs from the other woman. But if the dogs are here, then Moira should be home as well… Satya try the door. It’s open. 

What greet her on the other side is a pair of overly excited doberman pinschers and the sound of… is that organ-music? 

Intrigued, she step into the cabin, petting the dogs in passing. 

The room is dark and gloomy. All windows have been covered up by heavy curtains and the only lightsource (except for the now open front door) is a small wax candle flickering on the organ. Moira is sitting by the instrument, playing it with her back to Satya and acting for all the world like she hasn’t noticed her approach. 

“Is this… the Lavender Town-theme?” 

“From Pokémon red-green-blue-yellow, yes. I was not aware that you were a fan?” [3] Moira answers even as she keeps playing. 

“My parents purchased a gameboy for me when I was a child, in the hope that I might fit in better with my elementary school-peers if we had a common interest. I must say though, you’re very able. I didn’t know you were so musically gifted.” 

“I agree. I am quite amazing,” finally, she drop the keys and turn to Satya. Despite the smile, she looks terribly tired. Actually, scratch that, she just looks terrible. “My parental figures are catholic. I agreed to join them in church on the condition that I learn to play the organ. Once my skills were adequate enough that I could compose my own game and anime adaptations, I gathered my things and left. Religion was never very appealing to me, but I did enjoy the music. It’s… relaxing.” 

“I see.” 

Silence settle over them in the darkness.    
Satya has half a mind to find somewhere to sit, half a mind to uncover the windows and let some light in. In the end, she does neither.    
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, my friend?” 

“You didn’t show up.” It comes out more accusatory than she intended. 

Moira is… particularly difficult to read right now. She cross her legs and lean back against the organ, that release a slow, dark tune beneath her weight. 

“Elaborate.” 

“Well, Moira, you…” she takes a deep breath. Tries to gather her thoughts. “we usually meet at the bar on friday evenings, correct? But last friday you didn’t show up, and then you wouldn’t answer my messages and... I was worried about you.” 

“Oh, Satya, that’s very sweet, but you really shouldn’t bother. I’ve been preoccupied with my book, that’s all! You might say that I’m in a bit of a creative… slump. As of right now. But thank you all the same, for looking out for me.” 

Moira smile up at her, and the moment is surprisingly pleasant, a lot more than Satya had expected from- 

“Really, writing this novel is killing me, not that you’d understand. I  _ wish  _ I could do something as simplistic as  _ farming _ .” 

Ah. There she is, the obnoxious and arrogant Moira that she’s come to know and… tolerate. 

(Satya try not to dwell on the thought that only three months ago, she might have expressed some thoughts that were quite similar). 

Still, she fight through her annoyance and turn the other cheek. 

“If you ever need a break from writing, you could always come work with me and Jamison at the farm for a while.” She could always use the extra hands, and the thought of Moira digging around in the dirt is highly amusing. 

“Oh, that’s a very nice offer, my dear friend, but I couldn’t possibly abandon my creative vision, even if it’s only for a few days! The manga is almost complete, after all.” 

“It is? I’ve-” 

“Knock knock.” 

Suddenly, the village doctor, mr Augustine, is in the doorway, giving them both a smile and a wave. He’s carrying a medical bag in his right hand. Moira freeze up immediately. 

“Hello, ms Vaswani. I didn’t expect to see you here.” 

“Good afternoon.” 

“Moira, I have your test results. Would you…” he turn to Satya. “would you be so kind as to leave for a little while? I’d like to discuss these matters with ms O'Deorain in priv-” 

“Satya stays!” Moira declares in a strangely pitched tone, clutching at her shirt. 

Huh. 

Should she be getting worried? 

Suddenly feeling protective over her friend, Satya plant a calming hand over hers. 

“Well, if you insist…” mr Augustine turn the lightswitch before entering the room, making the women cringe a bit at the sudden brightness. Then he brings out a chair and sit down in front of them. When Satya turn back towards Moira, she can see that the woman looks a lot worse for wear than she’d realised. There are deep, dark circles around her mismatched eyes, her hair is muzzled and greasy and her skin is so pale that she’s appears almost see-through. 

“So, would you like the bad news or the good news first?” 

“Oh don’t play your little games with me, doctor. I’m not some sniffling babe you have to comfort, just tell me my results.” She  _ says  _ that, but Satya can feel the way that her hand is trembling. 

She doesn’t seem to be fooling mr Augustine either. He’s looking very tired.    
“Alright then… well, ms O'Deorain, it appears that you’re suffering from a mild case of malnutrition. And you’re at a risk of developing scurvy, if you keep this current lifestyle up.” 

“Mal… malnutrition?! Scurvy?! That is preposterous!” 

“Is it? Tell me, Moira. When was the last time you ate anything but instant noodles? We wouldn’t want to repeat the incident of september 2018...” 

“I know my own body better than anyone. Besides, I used to be a doctor myself! [4] If I was at risk, then I’d know!” 

Oh Gods… Satya retrieve her hand and take a step away from the other woman. If this is the throne she choose to die on, she can do it by herself. 

“When was the last time you actually  _ cooked  _ your noodles?” Jean-Baptiste insist, clearly a man of far more patience than Satya. 

“You have no right to ask me that! As a matter of fact, I demand a second opinion. Satya?” 

She turn to her with big, pleading eyes. 

Satya only sighs. 

“You should listen to mr Augustine, Moira. He’s only trying to help you.”    
“That’s right. Now I’m not asking you to do any drastic lifestyle changes. Just… boil your noodles and add some vegetables to them every once in a while, you’ll see that it will improve both their flavor and your health-” 

“uuuUUUUUUUUGH!” 

Jean-Baptiste leave after about an hour, after having given Moira a long lesson on nutritional value, as well as an impromptu cooking class. 

“That quack clearly doesn’t have enough work to do in this town, if he can waste his afternoon preaching about the importance of broccoli!” Moira scoffs once he’s gone. “I’d rather die than work medicine in a vacated dump like this.” 

Then, the redhead actually decide for herself that it’s time to pull open those curtains and let the sun in. 

It would feel promising to Satya, if the sunlight didn’t make all the dust so apparent. As well as the empty noodle wraps and the crumpled paper, tossed on the floor in a spur of creative rage, no doubt… she help her clean up a bit. 

Once nightfall begin and it’s time for her to make her leave, Moira thank her for the visit and for all of the help. 

“Do I dare ask for one more favor? If it’s not too much of a bother?” 

“I… of course!” Satya stutter, caught off guard. 

“Would you please bring Sasuke-chan and Lelouch-sama with you to the farm? Just for a week or two? I fear that there might be… some truth, to Baptiste’s word, even if he is an inexperienced charlatan, and I might need some time to recover. I simply do not have the strength to entertain these energetic, purebred beauties as of now. And, though it is more spartan than what they’re used to, I believe they’d enjoy some time at a farm.” 

“More… spartan?” Satya glance around the cramped cabin. It’s still messy, despite all of their hard work. Then she look at the dogs, that stare at her with their big, dark eyes. Then to, Moira, that’s giving her an imploring look much inspired by her two pets. 

“Pretty please?” 

“Ugh. Fine.” 

“Oh, thank you, my friend! Now, they’re two very simple, well behaved dogs. Just don’t let Lelouch-sama eat anything other than his veterinary ordained allergy food, or he’ll get terribly gassy, and you shouldn’t trust Sasuke-chan to be alone around the chickens, or he’ll  **definitely ** tear their pretty little necks out…” 

-*-

Jamison has managed to cross off two checkpoints on his personal “to do”-list:

  1. He’s apologized 

and 

  1. he’s shown Satya the barn. 

Now he just has to tell her about the…  _ feelings _ . He glare down at the words on the list, sure that they’re mocking him. Still, he’s committed to his task, reminding himself over and over that he  _ wants  _ to tell her, if only to get it all over and done with. The words keep appearing on the tip of his tongue, 

(that time when she opened the door one morning clearly just out of bed, bleary eyed and tousled in a way that he’d never seen her before, 

or that one time when she helped him with a really bad bee sting he got working in the garden, 

and every time her smile reach her eyes and her cheek crinkle in that way of hers, when she wobble her head, when she say good morning in the mornings and good day in the afternoon, and bloody hell, he really is done for, isn’t he?! ) 

until he feels like he’s  _ buzzing  _ with it. It’s a nervous, restless kind of energy that he knows from experience needs an outlet - only this time, he can’t explode his problems away (??!!). 

So, he simply  **has ** to tell her. 

But, as it turns over the course of the following weeks, making excuses comes a lot easier than, y’know…. laying himself out there in an embarrassing display of unrequited feelings that will end with a broken heart for him, a lot of awkward shuffling around between the two of them and, possibly, him getting the sack. 

-*-

Satya spend the following two weeks as a dog-owner. The hens aren’t too happy about the situation, but Satya herself find the experience surprisingly pleasant. 

Though she initially tries to keep them off the furniture, she wake up with them wrapped around her in her bed every morning. The arrangement is strangely comforting, so she gives in after only a couple of days. She bring them with her everywhere they’re allowed to go, and set up her personal schedule to allow four-five walks a day depending on her workload. 

Five days into the first week, the kitchen renovations are finally complete. To celebrate, Satya invite both the Lindholm and the Rutledge household over for a garden lunch party (a bit silly, perhaps, considering that the intention was to show off the new kitchen, but with the amount of children Torbjörn have they couldn’t possibly fit everyone into the cabin). 

Though she’s nervous, seeing as she’s never actually hosted much of anything but business meetings in the past, the event went… as swimmingly as one might imagine with ten children, two dogs, and a household with three incorrigible tricksters running around. Looking back on it, she’s just happy that no one died. A couple of moments stand out as especially bright in her mind. 

For reasons that she’s not quite ready to soul search just yet, thank you very much, they both involve Jamison. 

The first is of a conversation by the dinner table. 

“Oh, and then Satya, this absolute beaut’ of a cunt right here, says-”    
“Cu-?” She cut in, unable to even say the word. “Jamison, what did you just call me, and why?!” Satya’s trying not to feel offended, the situation is confusing to say the least, since there was so much warmth in his voice, but the word is so… vulgar. 

“Oh, no, sorry! I keep forgetting that not everyone speaks aussie, and sometimes I lay the slang on a bit heavy, it’s not like… well y’see, in ‘straya, calling someone a cunt is a good thing!”    
“Being a… the  _ c-word _ ?” 

“Y-yeah… a real good thing! Like… I call Mako here a cunt all the time.”    
Mr Rutledge grunt in affirmation.    
“same with Zen. Though I do that when he’s being a lil’ shit, too, so I dunno if that’s the best example…” 

“What my cousin here is trying to so elaborately say is that “a cunt”? Is a term of endearment. You should consider yourself lucky. There’s not many he’s given the title since moving to Starde-”    
“‘Aight, that’s enough from ya!” Jamison shut him up by pushing a handful of salad into the younger male’s mouth. Zenyatta takes it all in stride, chewing around the greens with a mischievous look in his eyes. 

Satya look down on her hands, try her best not to blush, and wobble her head. 

“Whuz that mean?” 

She look up at Jamison again, that’s making his best interpretation of a human question mark. 

“What does what mean?”    
“The whole,” he wobbles his head in imitation of her. “-thing. I’ve seen ya do it before. Ain’t got a clue what it means though. Is it a yes? Is it a no? Or a maybe?” 

“Oh!” Another cultural misunderstanding. They seem to be hard at work airing those out today. “Oh well… the head wobble can be used in many different ways. It’s the non-verbal equivalent of the Hindi word  _ achha  _ and can mean… anything, really, from the word “good” to “I understand”. But it might also be used as an alternative to “thank you”, to acknowledge someone’s presence, or as a gesture of kindness and respect.” 

“‘aight… but, why have something that mean so many things at once? Sounds confusing.”    
“Like the c-word?” 

“HAH!” Jamison laugh, and start shoveling another portion of Torbjörns spinach pie onto his plate. “Ye got me there! Always so clever…” 

Satya smile and, in an act of boldness, snatch a bite off of his plate with her fork. 

“Jamison… If there’s ever anything else that I do or say that confuse you, I’d like you to ask me about it. I wouldn’t want to risk any more misunderstandings between us, from now on.” 

The word weigh heavier over them than anyone else around the table could possibly understand. It’s making something soft and a little sad enter Jamison’s eyes. 

Then he grin at her, ever the jester, and do a small head wobble of his own. 

“Am I doing this right?” 

Satya only laugh.    
“Good enough, you…” the word stick in her throat, and some of the glee seem to disappear from him at her hesitation. 

“Ye don’t have to-” 

“cunt.”    
“HAH!” 

“you cunt...” she taste the word on her tongue, smiling through it. 

A term of endearment, indeed… 

The second memorable occasion of the party is more of a series of events than one singular moment. During conversation, Satya is suddenly struck by the realization that she’s never thanked Jamison for all of his work with the barn. Distraught, she tell him as much, and just like that the building become the new topic of conversation around the longtable. 

Once dinner has been consumed, mr Rutledge and Torbjörn demand that she and Jamison show them around. Torbjörn is interested in the handywork, while mr Rutledge make inquires as to what animals Satya might be interested in keeping. And so it’s decided that when the Lindholm-household have made their leave, they’ll bring the dogs to Rutledge farm and have them herd some sheep back here.    
Since neither Sasuke nor Lelouch have any prior experience actually herding animals, they’re no help whatsoever, and the whole affair become somewhat chaotic. After stumbling all over each other trying to control the animals, Satya and Jamison eventually manage to bring back the dogs, three sheep that Satya name Athos, Porthos and Aramis, and one duck that just kind of tagged along that Jamison named Puck [5], to Utopaea Farm. 

Altogether it proved to be a messy, chaotic and very sweaty ordeal. No one was more surprised than Satya herself to find that she enjoyed it. At one point Jamison stumbled over Aramis, head first into a puddle of muddy water, and she laughed until there were tears in her eyes. Once they arrived however, she wouldn’t let him into the buildings looking like  _ that _ , covered in mud, twigs and various kinds of animal hair (and feathers! There was one in his hair that Satya’s hands were practically  _ itching  _ to remove from him) that he’d accumulated during the journey. 

“Oh, but the bloody animals can come into yer sparkling new barn, is that right?”    
“I have standards.”

“I saw Lelouch licking Sasuke in the ass like… five seconds ago! And you let them into yer  _ bed _ !” He complain, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t keep the smile off his face. Satya only wobble her head, fully aware that her own lips are twitching with laughter as well, and leave him outside to get the animals situated. 

All in all, it‘s a very good day. 

-*-

Jamison should be  _ pissed _ , covered in muddy water and various kinds of animal fur (Sasuke is licking at his cheek in a not-so-subtle attempt to get to Puck the duck, that’s currently made a nest in his hair, while one of the sheep are chewing on the hem of his shirt), sweaty and uncomfortable and tired to the bone, but he’s not, because Satya’s there and she’s laughing and USUALLY when she laughs it’s in this… collected, subdued way, like she’s holding herself back, but this? He’s never heard her laugh like this. She’s doubling over, heaving and snorting and there’s nothing sophisticated or refined about it but it’s bloody  _ beautiful _ , and Jamie is way too busy memorizing the sound of it to have time to be angry, thank you very much. 

_ She’s nearly  _ ** _pissing herself_ ** , he thinks, looking up at her like she’s the top of the world. And then, as easy and natural as the first thought:  _ I love her.  _

It’s on the tip of his tongue. His entire body is vibrating with it. 

But he doesn’t say it. 

-*-

During the second week of dog ownership, a notice that catch Satya’s attention is put up outside of Oxton’s convenience store. It’s a wanted-poster, posted by mr Amari-Wilhelm. He’s looking for his underwear. They’re a pair of overly large, purple boxer shorts… Satya would recognize those boxers anywhere. Those are, without a doubt, the soup-boxers. 

Feeling concerned about the implications of it all (why are Jamison and Mako in possession of Reinhardt’s underwear?), Satya tear down the poster and bring it with her to Rutledge farm, dogs in tow. Luckily, mr Rutledge isn’t home.    
She show the notice to Jamison and Zenyatta, that are none the wiser as to where or why their grunkle got Reinhardt’s underwear, and don’t know its current location. They help her look. At some point, Jamison try to make Sasuke and Lelouch search for the boxers, but the only thing they’re able (or willing?) to track down is the cookie-jar in the kitchen. Jamie give them a treat each when he thinks Satya isn’t looking. Later, he sneak one into her hand as well. 

The gesture makes something warm bloom in her chest. She makes sure to eat it when he’s watching, delighted by the shy smile that spreads over his face. 

Zenyatta is the one that finally finds the garment. 

He’s been rummaging through mr Rutledge bedroom, leaving a trail of destruction behind him as he’s thrown the contents of all his drawers out on the floor around him. 

“This feels like a violation of privacy…” Satya can’t help but muse aloud. 

“I found them at the bottom of his bedside table drawer!” the teenager shows them the large, purple, formerly soup-underwear (they’ve since been washed). “I wonder why he has them…?” 

“Fair dinkum? I sometimes get the feeling that our ol’ grunkle’s a bit of a root rat, mate.”

“A root rat?” 

“Aah, y’know like… he’s a big fan of the… the birds and the bees?” 

Zenyatta stare at the underwear, to Jamison, back to the underwear. Slowly, his face drain of color. 

Meanwhile, Jamie’s keep getting redder. 

“y’know about the birds and the bees, right?” 

“Eugh!” Zen throw the underwear away from him, into a pile of ruffled t-shirts. “Of course I know about the birds and the bees, you perve-” 

“I’ll just…” Satya interrupt, picking the boxers up between two fingers that would rather be anywhere else right now. “take these and go, then. Do you happen to have a bag for me to carry them in?” 

She leave the Rutledge-farm with the boxers in a bag in one hand, the leashes for the dogs in the other, and a sinking feeling in her stomach. She’s trying to run the upcoming scenario through her head, but the closer she gets to the village, the harder she finds it to conjure up a happy ending to it all. How do you tell someone that their husband might be cheating on them? And, considering that this was Ana she was delivering the news to, how do you do it and then escape her righteous rage with your life? 

Finally, she reach the Amari-Wilhelm household. The old woman greet her happily and show her inside. They leave Sasuke and Lelouch outside to play with their family dog, a mutt named Max. Satya, figuring that she might as well get the situation over and done with as quickly as possible, plant the underwear on the kitchen counter. 

“I found your husband’s missing boxers, mrs Amari-Wilhelm.” 

“Satya my dear, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Ana? Now, would you like any sugar with your tea?” 

“I’m good, mrs Amari-Wilhelm.”    
“No sugar?” 

“No tea.” 

She sit down by the counter, giving Satya a strange look. It makes her uncomfortable. 

“No tea…? What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” 

Satya can’t bring herself to meet the older woman’s eyes. 

“I found your husband’s missing boxers, mrs Amari-Wilhelm.” she repeats. 

“Mhm? And? Would you like your reward?”    
“No, I-” she look up, insulted, only to find that Ana is smiling at her. She’s being teased. Flustered and frustrated, Satya look back down. “I don’t care about the reward. This is about…  _ where  _ I found them.”    
“What are you trying to tell me, Satya?”    
“I… we…” she take a deep breath, bracing herself for what’s to come. “these are the soup-boxers, mrs Amari-Wilhelm. The ones that the Rutledge household used to prank the governor.” 

“I recall.” 

“We found them in mr Rutledge’s bedroom. No one knows why they were there, but Jamison and Zenyatta suspect…” 

“suspect…?” 

“Foul play, mrs Amari-Wilhelm. Maybe even…  _ infidelity _ …” 

“Oh. Oh, Satya,” she look up, only to see that Ana’s face has gone red. As their eyes finally meet, the old woman release a breath that Satya hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and break out into loud, wheezing laughter. Satya feel her face heat up. “Oh, my dear child, I’m so sorry, this must have been weighing so heavy on you, but I just… pfftaAAAHAHAH, Reinhardt? Having an affair? With  _ Mako _ ?! I can’t, I just- AAHahaHAhahAHahahaahhaaaaaa,” 

“I don’t see why that’s so preposterous, or amusing.” 

“It’s just that… Satya, dear… Mako is our boyfriend.” 

“Wait… what?!” 

“Oh, my sweet… sit down, please. I’ll make us both a cup of tea.” This time, Satya is too stunned to argue. She watch the older woman rise and prepare two cups of steaming green tea. She place them on the counter, right next to the still unopened bag with the boxers. “Have you ever heard of open relationships?” 

“Well, yes, but…” 

“But?” 

“You’re so… old.” 

Ana only laugh again. 

“Yes, yes we are!” She wipe a tear from the corner of her one eye. “Well, despite our impressive age, me and Reinhardt are in one. He and Mako became lovers years ago, and me and Mako decided to try dating a few months past. It’s still pretty fresh, and rumors spread so quickly in the village that we’ve decided to keep it on the downlow.”    
“So… mr Rutledge is…?” 

“Polyamorous. And a bit of a slut, if I’m going to be honest with you. Oh, if you only  _ knew  _ the shenanigans he’d get up to back in the old days, with your grandfather.” 

“My… wait, mr Rutledge and my grandfather?!” 

“Yes, well, after the divorce, of course…” She take a tentative sip of her tea, then wink (or maybe it’s just a blink?). “It seems like the Rutledge-family have always had a  _ thing  _ for the Vaswani’s.” 

-*-

As Jamison reach out to smuggle Satya a cookie, their hands touch, for just a moment. 

For any normal, mentally stable person in his right state of mind, this brief second of physical contact should have been a non-issue. Jamison, however, has never been described by anyone as ‘normal’, he's madly in love and drunk on Satya’s presence to boot, so the moment is quick to blow up inside him: his breath hitch and his heart stutter and the blush on his cheeks become so hot that it feels like he’ll explode if he stays close to her for even a second more. 

So he does the only reasonable thing that can be done in this already somewhat (to him) crazy scenario. He scream something about going looking for Reinhardt’s underwear in the kitchen cabinets or whatever, then flee as quick as his peg leg will carry him.    
A few minutes later, way too early for him to have recovered much at all, she join him. 

“Do you really think they’ll be here? It seem a strange location for a pair of boxers…” 

“Y’never know with the ol’ bogan…” Jamison refuse to look at her as his face is still hot, the thoughts are still spinning, and his heart still feels like its on its way to violently beat its way out of his chest. And yet, he manage to catch the thread of some semi-coherent thought through the jumble of it all. “Y’know, I once found a fully stacked jar of choccy biccy’s in the laundry basket!” 

“Choccy biccy’s?”    
“Oh, y’know, like,” before he’s been able to stop himself, he look up at her and freeze. Whatever thread he’d been holding is thoroughly lost. “like… the one yer nibbling at.” 

Satya look at the cookie and smile.    
“Oh.” 

She’s eating it. 

The cookie.    
The cookie that he gave her. 

Satya’s eating the cookie that he gave her (!), she’s seemingly enjoying it (!!), and the sight make his head go into an upwards spiral as the thought 

_ I love you.  _

_ I love you, I love you, I love you.  _

tumble through him with the speed and force of a freight-train (!!!). 

It’s intense enough to leave him dizzy 

(the good kind, like when you’re on a rollercoaster, 

when you’re watching Mad Max: Fury Road, 

or when you’re at one of those really good fireworks-display they do in the city. 

Man, he’d really love to take her to one of those some day). 

Before he knows it, he’s smiling like a lovesick moron, and doesn’t even bother to cover it up. 

Still, he doesn’t say it. 

-*-

“Good afternoon everyone and welcome to this exclusive, first time reading of my finished visual novel.” Moira clears her throat in the manner of someone not actually in need of clearing their throat, but rather fishing for time to collect themselves in a time of distress. 

Satya try to catch her eyes through the crowded library, to no avail. 

She’s situated towards the back on account of the dogs, that (much like their owner and Satya herself) aren’t too comfortable navigating through a crowd. And Moira’s manga-reading has drawn  _ quite  _ the party - it seems like most of the village is in attendance (!). Considering the amount of times Satya’s heard the redhead brag about the amount of people that she expected to show up, she can only assume that Moira’s happy about this, despite the woman’s exuberant sweating. 

“Ever since I was a young urchin, I’ve dreamt of becoming a writer.” the woman continue. “When the time came for me to leave Ireland and start a new life, I moved here. I was drawn to the peaceful beauty of the valley, and hoped that days of quiet reflection in this idyllic atmosphere would fan the literary flames. After countless hours scribbling at my writing desk, I present to you my first mang-I mean, visual novel: ‘Love in the time of Omnics’. It’s a story about two star crossed lovers who work on the fields as medics, in the midst of a futuristic, dystopian war.    
Now, I will commence the reading…” 

Moira display the first page to the crowd. Even from a distance, Satya can tell that the characters are the writers self insert and, of course, Angela. She hears a scoff, and turn to see Fareeha frowning from a corner. Luckily, for the sake of O’Derain’s (crumbling) pride, Angela herself doesn’t seem to be in attendance.    
And so, Moira begin to read. 

“Chapter one: Medical Commander Loira O’deVain stepped through the golden archway as the airlocked snapped shut behind her. Today was her first day in Blackwatch, and all 14 of the alliance delegates had been summoned to the Horizon Lunar Colony…” 

Two awkward hours later, she’s reading the end of her last chapter. During the course of her reading, Moira seem to have gained a lot of courage from the audience occasional “oohs” and “aahs” (that Satya is always late to join in on). She’s even begun to mimic appropriate sound effects (“pew!” “patchow” “WHOMP”)! 

“‘...and as the 7th moon descended beneath the horizon, Bangela turned to Medical Commander O’deVain. 

  * Loira, there’s something I must tell you. 

Loira turned, slowly, and saw the look of desperation in Bangela’s beautiful blue eyes. 

  * Commander, you are a brilliant leader, the smartest person I know and the best lover I’ve ever had. If anyone can defeat those supercharged murder omnics, it’s you. And I will follow you anywhere you go.
  * I know. Now, let’s go get play of the game!

And get play of the game they did.’ 

The End.” 

Everyone cheers, and the enthusiasm of it makes Satya wonder if she’s the only one there that didn’t understand anything of what she’s just been read [6]. 

Moira comes running right up to her, receiving encouraging words and pats on the back from the crowd as she pass, but just as Satya is about to panic the other woman fall to her knees and embrace her dogs instead. 

“Did you see that, sweetlings? Did mommy make you proud? Yes I did, yes I did! Who’s a good writer? Who’s a good writer! I am!” 

Around them, people are slowly beginning to leave the library. Satya drop the leashes, take a step back against the wall and use this moment to gather her wits about herself. 

Once Moira turn back to her, Satya has a semi-sincere smile and a bunch of supportive lies at the ready. 

“So, what did you think?” 

“I-” 

“You loved it, didn’t you? Oooh, I knew you would! Thank you, Satya, my friend, you have no idea how much that means to me. I actually dedicated it to you-” 

“ _ I _ thought it was stupid.” 

As struck by lightning, Moira stand up and turn around to face none other than the one, the only Fareeha Amari-Wilhelm. The jock is sneering at them, flanked on both sides by the very concerned-looking Aleksandra Zaryanova and Brigitte Lindholm. 

“What do you mean stupid?” Moira challenge, and suddenly Satya is experiencing some sort of horrible dejavu to her old Nintendo Pokémon Games. 

‘ _ Jock Fareeha is challenging you to a battle _ !’ 

She blame all of the manga she’s been read during the day. 

“The plot didn’t make ANY sense. I mean… what, you got this weird ninja robot-” 

“Benji.” 

“getting brought back to life and forced to fight for some shady organisation-” 

“DarkSeers.” 

“alongside some even WEIRDER space cowboy dude, that, what, makes time slow down every day at noon while music play around him and a tumbleweed appear at random??” 

“McCream.” 

“And they’re all led by a TALKING ORANGUTAN [7], and yet somehow,  _ they _ ’re the good guys, and this Benji guy or whatever never holds  _ any  _ grudge about being forced to kill people for them?! It’s confusing, is all I’m saying.” 

“You only find it confusing because  _ you _ ’re a talking orangutan, Fareeha.” 

“What the hell is  _ that  _ supposed to mean?” 

“It obviously means that you’re an imbecile, you imbecile.” 

‘ _ Insufferable geek Moira used jab about opponents level of intelligence’  _

“Y-your book is an imbecile!” 

‘ _ it’s super effective! _ ’

And so begin a five minute screaming match that’s only interrupted once the librarian, Akande, has had enough, and makes Brigitte and Aleksandra forcefully divide the two women. 

“Friends, please! You are acting like children.” Aleksandra says as she grabs Moira by the hips and hoists her over the shoulder like she’s nothing. 

Based on the flustered look on the irish woman’s face, she doesn’t actually mind too much. 

“You’re worse than my siblings!” Brigitte agree. Her and Akande are having a lot more difficulties keeping the fit and probably running on something more substantial than dry instant noodles-Fareeha in place. 

Satya is still standing pressed up against the wall, now joined by the dogs. She’s been feeling a little intimidated and a lot of useless for these past five minutes, but hearing the others talk, she’s suddenly struck by an idea. 

After the whole ordeal is over and done with, the rivaling parties have been parted and Moira’s gotten her dogs back, Satya makes sure to chase down Aleksandra and Brigitte to pitch her plan to them. She’s going to need allies for what she’s about to arrange… 

-*-

“Satya… my dear friend?”    
“Yes, Moira?” 

“Would you care to explain something to me?” 

“I would love to clear up any queries you might have, my dear.” 

“Well in that case, would you be so kind as to tell me what in the name of genetical research  ** _this is_ ** ?!”    
“I’m glad you asked. This…” she gesture towards the kiddie pool that Moira’s sitting in, cramped together with a bunch of colorful rubber balls and a very annoyed-looking Fareeha. “is a ball pit.” 

In the background, Aleksandra and Brigitte have them both flanked, and even further back Sasuke and Lelouch are playing with Fareeha’s dog Max.    
“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.” The jock sneers at Satya. “But why are we  ** _in _ ** the ball pit?! What’s going on here?! Brigitte, Aleksandra, I thought we were going to play beach ball?” 

“And I thought _we,_” Moira gesture towards herself and Satya. “were going to perform Yoko Takahashi’s ‘A Cruel Angel’s Thesis’ together in the abandoned old community center- oh no, that was a lie, wasn’t it? You sly dog, you…” 

Satya give the pair the sweetest, most poisonous smile she can muster. 

“Well, after your little… incident, at the manga-reading,” she can practically feel the toxic honey ooze out of her words. “The three of us had a little chat. And we decided that since the two of you keep insisting on acting like children around each other, we’ll treat you as such.” 

“We got most of this stuff from my siblings!” Brigitte chimes in. 

“Except for the tea-set. That one is mine.” Says Aleksandra. 

“There’s a tea-set?” Fareeha whine. 

“Yes. After you’ve played in the ball pit, we’re going to have a tea-party with Aleksandra’s stuffed bear mr Snuggles.” Satya continue. “Then you’ll play in the bouncy-house we got for you, and then, if you behave, we  _ might  _ just go to the beach to play some of your ‘beach-ball’ afterwards.” 

“Is there any possibility that we’ll perform Yoko Takahashi’s ‘A Cruel Angel’s Thesis’ after this nonsense is over and done with?” Moira ask. 

“No. But if you’re nice, I’ll play it on my phone for you.”    
“That’s outrageous. As if the pitiful speakers on your cellular device would do Yoko Takahashi justice! I’m leaving-” 

“Oh no you’re not!” Fareeha pull Moira back down into the ball pit. “If I don’t suffer through this, then I don’t get to play beach ball today! And if  _ I  _ have to suffer through this, then so do you!” 

“Unhand me, you brute!” The redhead shriek and throw one of the balls in the other woman’s face. Fareeha answer by throwing five balls back. Then Brigitte scream “BALL FIGHT” and before Satya knows it, it’s a full on war.    
The young Lindholm throw herself in the midst of it all, laughing and screaming, before Aleksandra empty the whole pool by flipping it upside down, all three residents still inside it. 

“How are you so STRONG?!” Moira scream from underneath the tangle of limbs, balls and pool.    
“What? Like it’s hard?” The russian shrug. 

While the others wage their childish war with their childish balls (it only looks  _ a little  _ fun, though she’ll never admit it aloud), Satya prepare the tea party, making sure to straighten mr Snuggles in his chair and tie his little bowtie up nice and proper. 

During the playdate that followed Satya, Moira, Fareeha, Aleksandra, Brigitte and Mr Snuggles had a food fight at the tea party, wrestled in the bouncing castle and threw sand at each other at the beach ball court. Towards the end of it all, they even joined Moira in an attempt to sing her animé song (though no one present could speak japanese, not even Moira, which became painfully apparent when she tried to teach them the lyrics). 

Though the day was full of chaotic messes that Satya refused to take part in, it was also packed with moments of laughter and joy. At one point she’d even seen Moira and Fareeha smile at each other - without any sarcastic jabs or open hostility! 

And so, Satya left for home that day, tired and with a her hair full of sand (she hadn’t been able to escape that one), feeling happy and proud. 

Mission “make the idiots not quite friends but at least not hate each other’s guts”-accomplished. 

-*-

Time is a fickle thing, and summers in particular have an unfortunate tendency to slip away. 

The end of august is approaching rapidly, and Jamison still hasn’t been able to cross off the most important checkpoint on his summer-to-do-list: confess his feelings. Waiting for the grand, perfect moment to do so, he’s allowed hundreds of smaller, just as perfect moments to pass him by. 

But tonight, he’s decided, is the night. 

It’s the dance of the moonlight jellies, an annual festival where the villagers gather by the beach, release lanterns [8] onto the waters and watch jellyfish crowd around them. It’s usually a quiet, peaceful event, perfect for private conversations. Besides, he’s seen a lot of the other villagers getting cozy with each other during it in the past, so he figures that it’s considered romantic enough for a love confession. 

And so, Jamison get himself thoroughly cleaned up, even making sure to remove all of the dirt from underneath his nails, run a comb through his usually unruly hair, put on his cleanest pair of jeans shorts (unfortunately, he doesn’t own a pair that doesn’t have holes in them) and his best (only) dress shirt. 

“Jamie, ya’ coming or not?” He hear Mako bark from the other side of the door. 

“Yeah, yeah, just gimme a minute… I’m flat out like a lizard drinking in here, mate!” 

Before leaving Jamison goes through the self-care list that Satya made him. He figures that if Mako knew what was up to, he’d probably approve. 

Did you get out of bed today? - Check! 

Did you spend some time in the sunshine? - He’s been working all morning, so that’s a given.

Have you showered recently? - Just did before dressing! Check! 

Did you take some me-time? - If laying in bed staring up at the roof, agonizing over the evening, counts as ‘me-time’ then yeah, sure. 

Did you wash your face? - See: have you showered recently?

Did you do something kind for yourself? - Meh 

Did you take your medicine (if any) as prescribed? - Oh! That reminds him! 

Jamie cross the room to pull out a pocket flask that he’s filled with whiskey and keeps hidden in the sock-cabinet. He take a big, strengthening mouthful of it, sighing at the warmth as it spread through his body. 

That should keep him going for the rest of the evening… 

He looks back at the list. 

Did you remember how competent you are? 

Did you remember how worthy you are? 

He put the list back down. 

For some reason, those last two checkpoints always makes him feel… uncomfortable. He’s flattered that Satya wrote them, of course, but for some reason, the wording always make him cringe. They just don’t feel… applicable. To him. 

“Jamison! Hurry up!” 

“Piss off, ya’ ol’ mongrel! I’m on my way!” He grabs the pocket flask for himself (liquid courage) and a box of strawberries for Satya on the way out. 

If Mako or Zenyatta wonder about that, or about his unusually clean appearance, they have the good sense not to say anything as they make their way down to the beach together. 

-*-

It’s bloody beautiful. 

The lanterns reflecting in the water, the jellyfish dancing around them. The sky above is clear and bright with stars, and every now and then the warm summer air will shift with a breeze that smell like salt and autumn. 

Satya’s wearing her hair up tonight. Jamison’s never noticed it before, but every time she does, she wear clothes with high collars. This time it’s a long, flowing blue dress that hug her curves and hide the scars that he knows that she has hidden across her neck. 

Jamie had once called her perfect, and she’d said that it was a facade. 

He thinks that he might understand what she meant by that now (though he still doesn’t agree with her, doesn’t think he ever will). 

Jamison watch her from the shadows for a while, still holding onto the box of strawberries while trying not to let himself think too much, trying not to let himself  _ feel  _ too much. Satya’s bloody beautiful, smiling impossibly bright as she look down with wonder at the little animals approaching the harbor, and he wants to go up to her, wants to talk to her, wants her to  _ know,  _ but he can’t, because he’s too late. 

She’s there with someone else 

(Sombra is clutching at her arm, 

gazing at Satya while Satya stare at the ocean, 

a look on her face like the indian woman hung the stars, and of course someone else would notice her, the way she shines so bright in this crowd full of shadows. Of course someone more brave and accomplished and handsome than him would fall for her, just as he did. 

They’re beautiful together). 

“Cousin… are you alright?” 

The words come to him as if he’s lying at the bottom of a pool. 

They’re muffled. 

And they echo. 

Knowing that he’s disassociating, Jamison make a meek attempt of pulling himself through the haze and give Zenyatta a shaky nod. 

“‘m going home, Zen.” He drop the box of strawberries into the sand, then reach down to take a swig of his whiskey instead. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” 

“Nah.” He tear his eyes away from the happy couple. “‘m fine.” 

-*-

Sombra asked Satya to join her at the dance of the moonlight jellies in much the same way that she’d asked her to join her to the Luau. They’d been outside, the hispanic woman was smoking (while Satya subtly tried to keep away from the smell) and the topic had been brought up naturally enough through conversation (though looking back on it, Sombra did seem uncharacteristically… sweaty?). 

Satya didn’t think much of it until she realised that, this time, they never mentioned anything about going together with their friends. Was this… a date? 

She hadn’t been on one in so long, the thought was nerve wracking - though not entirely unwelcome. Sombra was attractive, intelligent and funny. She’d been enjoying the others company all summer and wouldn’t mind taking their relationship to the next level… she thinks. 

Thoughts of Jamison come to her unbidden. The way he smile at her in the mornings. The sound of his laugh when it’s true, so different from the nervous, forced ones he sometimes let slip when he’s feeling cornered. The way his freckles spread down his back, or how his messy hair felt in her hands, or the way his shorts always fall too far down, revealing his hip bones… nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope that is a dangerous, inappropriate trail of thought that Satya refuse to entertain any further. She is Jamison’s  ** _boss _ ** and his friend and three years older to boot, making their power dynamic far too uneven for a romantic relationship and, besides, it’s not like he’s even  **interested ** in her to begin with, no matter what mrs Amari-Wilhelm might be hinting at! Hana (a very reliable source of information when it comes to all things gossip and video games) told her that Jamison used to date Lucio a couple of years back, so he’s most likely gay. 

Despite the logic of her reasoning, Satya allow herself a brief moment to feel disappointed. After all, Jamie  _ is  _ really, really cute, and out of all the people in Stardew he’s the one that she feel like she’s grown the closest to. 

But there’s no use crying over dairy products that weren’t even spilled but entirely unavailable to her in the first place, or, however it is that the saying goes... Besides, Sombra is very attractive as well (in a convenient, familiar way, that’s more expected of Satya to appreciate - not that her family would ever approve of either her or Jamison) and she’s looking forward to the opportunity of getting to know her better. 

So when it’s time for the dance of the moonlight jellies, Satya spend a disproportionate amount of time on her makeup, arrange her hair in the most complex updo she can manage with only two available hands and put on her best dress. In her defense, she doesn’t get many opportunities to dress up in Stardew. 

The date is perfectly lovely. Sombra pick her up by the cabin, looking very handsome in a dark purple suit, and take her out to eat at McCree’s bar before the festival. When they reach the beach, they take off their shoes and go barefoot through the sand. Now that the sun has set it feels pleasantly cool against Satya’s skin. They walk out to the docks together, hand in hand, and when the time is right they release a small lantern of their own onto the water. 

Sometime during the evening Satya think that she caught a glimpse of Jamison, but he’s quick to disappear into the crowd, and she doesn’t see him again after that. 

She tries not to worry too much. 

When the jellyfish appear around the lanterns, Sombra convince her to dip her feet in the water together with her, insisting that they’re perfectly harmless. 

The water is enjoyable, but when she brush against one of the little animals Satya decide that enough is enough and pull her feet back up. 

It’s a wonderful evening and the most lovely Stardew festival that Satya’s attended so far. 

And yet, she can’t help but think about Jamison.

_ Maybe he’s just not that interested in jellyfish…  _ She think to herself as she scan the crowd for him. Mako is there, spending time with mr and mrs Amari-Wilhelm, but she can’t see Jamie, or Zenyatta now that she thinks about it, anywhere. 

_ They must be up to something. This scene is too peaceful for them, they’re probably causing mischief somewhere else or… or booby trapping the woods, or something.  _

She find herself smiling at the thought. 

“Are you enjoying yourself, amante?” Sombra squeeze Satya’s hand, bringing her back into reality with a flash of guilt. 

“Ah. Yes, yes of course. It’s lovely. This is lovely! I’m having a lovely time.” 

“Mhm. Well, for someone having such a good time, you sure are saying the word ‘lovely’ a lot?” 

“I… I’m sorry. My mind just drifted for a while. I’ll try to stay present from now on.” 

She does, and the evening continue to be perfectly pleasant. But once the lanterns have died down and the jellyfish are gone, the crowds disperse and Sombra offer to walk her home, Satya politely decline. 

“I think I’ll stay here a little while longer.” She says, staring out at the sea. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll find my way home.” 

“Alright…” Sombra says, something strange in her voice that Satya doesn’t recognize. When she turn to look at her, whatever it was is quickly replaced by a smile. “Just try not to let the monster in the woods get you! I hear that it’s looking for pretty girls like you.” 

“The one that Angela is rumored to have created? Your foster siblings told me that it only chase children.” 

“Yeah, well,” she laugh. “They’re full of a shit. I’ll see you around, right? Satya?”    
“Of course. I had a lovely evening.” 

“So you keep saying…” 

Satya linger there for a long time, staring out at the ocean. 

It’s so dark and peaceful, she feels like staying forever. 

When it grows cold, she pull out a large, colorful scarf that she has in her purse and wrap it around herself. 

Autumn is coming. She can feel the scent of it on the wind. 

Crisp, colorful leaves, rainstorms and frost in the grass… she find herself looking forward to it. 

Then, suddenly, her tranquility is interrupted by the sound of a voice. 

“Uhm… Miss Vaswani? Is that you?” 

“Zenyatta?” 

She turn around and find herself staring at the teenager, that’s standing at the beach looking lost and afraid.    
“I’m sorry but… have you seen Jamie? He said that he was going home, but I went there and he wasn’t in the house, and I feel like I’ve looked everywhere but I can’t find him and I’m not sure but I think Mako went home with Ana and Reinhardt, he won’t answer his phone, none of them will, and I don’t… I don’t know what to do? Can you please help me?” 

Zenyatta is usually such a tranquil, balanced person, it’s easy to forget that he’s only sixteen years old. Looking at him now, spindly and trembling, his big dark eyes full to the brim with tears, is the first time Satya’s really sees him for what he is: a child. 

Her heart clench with worry, over him and Jamison both, and she gather her things and run up to him as quickly as she can. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you. Where was the last place you saw him?” 

They leave the beach together, passing by the abandoned, unnoticed box of strawberries in the sand as they go. 

-*-

They’re being followed. 

It seem absurd at first, but the more time Satya and Zenyatta spend looking for Jamison the more apparent it becomes. They’re being stalked: by a bird! 

Putting their collective knowledge of the local fauna together, they finally agree that the fowl is of the ‘bright yellow northern cardinal’-variant. They’re not sure in what way this will help them, but it does make for a good distraction from the growing feeling of dread caused by Jamison’s disappearance. 

The bird first makes itself known while they’re searching the harbor. It circle above them, chirping excitedly. 

“Perhaps it is trying to tell us something?” Zenyatta muse aloud. 

“Don’t be silly. It’s just a bird.” 

But as they make their way towards the village and it continues to follow them, making loops in the air around their heads and screaming like no northern cardinal Satya’s ever heard before, it become increasingly difficult to dispute the younger male’s theory. The cardinal flies from rooftop to rooftop, threatening to wake up the whole neighborhood until Satya finally gives in and agree to follow it into the woods surrounding Rutledge farm. 

This seem to calm it somewhat. 

Against her better judgement, she allow it to lead herself and Zenyatta into the woods. Stumbling through the night, they light their way forward to the best of their ability using cellphones. Even with this sliver of light, the blackness and, above all, the silence of the woods around them, seem almost suffocating. They can’t see the sky from the thick roof of leaves above. After a while, it make Satya lose track of space and time. She looks at Zenyatta, that has his face set in an expression of grim determination, and feel terrible. A responsible adult would have left him at home, or brought him to the Amari-Wilhelm household to get more help. A responsible adult definitely would  _ not  _ have brought him with her into the woods in the middle of the night on some wild goose (cardinal) chase, in a desperate attempt to find his alcoholic cousin. Doubt gnaws at her insides until her mind is spinning with it, but it’s too late to go back now. 

Every once in a while they’ll lose sight of the little animal in the darkness, but when that happens it will either sit down and chirp until they find their way or come flying back for them. 

Finally, after what feels like forever, the silence break to the sound of distant waves as the bird leads them out of the woods. They’re at the top of the cliff sides facing the oceans, south of Stardew. Despite the anxiety worming its way around in her, Satya can’t help but stop and take in the beauty of the scene in front of them. After spending so much time in the darkness, the stars burning in the sky seem impossibly bright. And the ocean is so quiet tonight, reflecting the heavens above… 

And there, lit up by the moonlight, is Jamison. 

He’s sitting by the cliffside, dangling his legs down into the abyss, face raised towards the sky but eyes closed, and Satya is so happy to see him that she almost cries out, would have run up to him, if it weren’t for Zenyatta, that grab her hand and hold her back. 

“He’s drunk.” The teenager whisper.

Looking Jamison over once more, she notice the pocket flask in his right hand and the gentle sway to his body. Something heavy coil itself up and make a nest inside her, right next to the anxiety. 

“Go back to the village, Zenyatta.” She whisper back. 

“But I-” 

“Follow the coastline and get Baptiste. It’s a little further than going straight through the woods, but at least you won’t get lost. Bring him here. I’ll watch over Jamison until you return.”    
“I… Okay.” 

She give him a shaky, encouraging smile and he give her one in return. Then, without further ado, he begin to sprint down the coastline. The northern cardinal follows him, and Satya can’t shake the feeling that his travel will be a little bit safer for it. 

Then, she turn back to the man sitting in front of her. 

“Jamison? Jamison, it’s me, Satya…” Slowly, she begin to approach him, afraid that she’ll startle him and make him tumble down the cliffside. 

“Yer list didn’t work.” 

She freeze. 

“Huh?” 

“Yer list,” Finally, he turn around to face her, and when he does she’s floored by the haunted, red rimmed look in his eyes. He’s smiling, but the illusion of happiness fail to reach any other part of him - from the tautness of his shoulders, to the quiet clenching and unclenching of his fingers around the fabric of his shirt, to the look of desperation in his too big eyes. “it didn’t work.” 

-*-

“By the way…” Jamison’s tongue feels heavy and way too large in his mouth, so talking is a bitch. Still, he chase the line his thoughts take him, like a dog chasing a car or its tail or something else that’s either tempting or annoying or a little bit of both, with the added excitement of being just out of reach. “Didn’t I… didn’t I tell ya to call me Jamie?” 

“You did.”    
Slowly, like she’s afraid he’ll run away    
(she doesn’t understand, 

doesn’t understand that he’d never do that, 

he doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to:

he’d probably just stumble and fall on his face or something), 

she walk up and sit down next to him. 

She’s close. 

Not close enough to touch, but still, close. 

Her body is warm, the cliffside is cold, and Jaime fight the urge to sprawl out like a cat and rest his head against her shoulder. 

“Jamie?” 

“Nghk.” 

“Why are you out here?” 

A laugh escape him, high pitched and awkward

(laughing is good, even when it’s weird, 

it comes naturally to him in a way that crying never did. 

Besides, crying while drunk is  **the worst** ). 

“Ain’t that obvious? It’s cuz I’m pissed!” he grin and wave the empty pocket flask around, before a little voice in his head whisper  _ ‘Oy, mate. Satya ain’t no True Blue - she won’t know what ya’re saying, ya cactus!’  _ and he add: “I’m drunk, that is! Not mad. I’m drunk, and… well, yeah, not mad, but sad. I guess.” 

Something heavy settle into his stomach at the reminder. He turn to look out towards the stars. Try to take a swig out of the flask, then remember that it’s empty and throw it out over the edge with a frustrated grunt. “Yer list didn’t work.” 

“My list?” 

“Yer list! The one ya made me! The whole… ‘self-care’-whatever… I tried it, went through the checkpoints every day like a good lil’ dag, but I’m just as fucking miserable now as I’ve always been.” 

“Jamie, that list was supposed to be one of  _ many  _ tools to help you with your mental health!” Satya is looking at him with a desperation in her eyes that’s almost sobering.“It’s not some miracle cure to follow and then immediately recover through. You need… therapy, and possibly medical assistance, from professionals!” 

“I-” 

“No, Jamie, I need you to listen to me. Healing takes time, and self love is a skill that need practice and nurturing. Look, I’ve… I’ve always been sick.” The word makes him twitch. “It might not be as noticeable now, but as a child I was very…  _ angry _ , with the world. With the irregularities of it, the injustice. I needed structure and routines, but when I began school I found it and the people around me to be chaotic. So I lashed out and…”    
“Autism isn’t a disease.” Jamison interrupt.

“I- oh, oh Jamison…” 

“it’s like my adhd. It’s not a disease, it just mean that our brain’s work different, or whatever. Being autistic doesn’t mean that yer sick, Satya.” 

“You… knew?” He might be as legless as a snake on roller skates, but even he can tell that she’s shrinking before him, escaping into herself. He won’t have it. 

“‘course. I… I was an angry kid too, so they had me checked out. My ma’ called me sick, made me eat a bunch of pills… I didn’t mind them too much, really, I just didn’t… didn’t like the way they made people… well, the way they made ‘em talk about me. So when I came to Stardew, I stopped taking ‘em. Didn’t want people around here to talk about me like that, too.” 

“I eat medication.” Satya confess, and he feels a small surge of pride at the way she’s opening herself back up a little. “For my anxiety, and the depression. I tried not to, for the longest time, even though, living in Hyderabad, I was…  _ exhausted _ , overwhelmed with the world. The city was just… too large, too full of people, I was in a state of constant sensory overload. I still get like that, sometimes…” she run her fingers against her neck without thinking, and he’s momentarily thrown off balance at the sight of her hands. They’re just… really pretty. “but the medication helps. I like to think that when I return… things will be different. That they’ll be better.”

That’s right. 

She’ll be leaving next spring. 

Jamison look down at his knees and try to swallow around the bitterness.    
What’s gonna happen to him when she’s gone? Will it be put up for sale by then? In just a few months time, Satya’s intertwined herself into the tangle of his life so thoroughly that he’s struggling to picture himself in Stardew without her. 

“At least now, if I ever start to feel as overwhelmed as I did before,” she continue, softly. “I can always return here. Come for a visit.” 

She smile at him, and it’s so sweet that he can’t help but smile back in return. 

“Yeah… y’know, I never liked the city either.”    
“You didn’t?” 

“Naaah, it was too much for me, too.” 

“That’s funny, I somehow always pictured you as a bit of a city-rat. Running around the streets, causing mischief…” 

“If I’m a city-rat, what does that make ya? A country-mouse?” 

She laugh, and the grin on his face is so big that it's hurting his cheeks. 

“I suppose that I am, at heart.” 

“Well, I guess that maybe the city itself wasn’t the problem so much as…” he takes a deep breath. The words are there, but he’s never said them out loud before. He looks down. Plunging down into the waters below feels like the easier solution right now. Finally, he force himself through the doubt. “well, me ma’.” 

The silence stretch, but when he look at Satya he find her watching him, attentive and waiting for him to continue. So, he does. 

“Not that she was, y’know, horrible or anything! She always did her best by me, but I was difficult and we didn’t have a lot of money and she’d drink to cope with it all. I guess that’s a family trait!” Jamison laugh, but it sounds wrong even to his own ears, so he blush and stops. “I kept getting into trouble, kept getting shipped between home and foster cares. I lived here, with grunkle Mako, most summers. After ma’ fell asleep drunk with a cigarette in bed and burned half the house, and most of my arm, off, they decided to send me here permanently. I was sixteen… and I’ve been here ever since! Ma’s in prison now.” 

He’s just about to laugh again, just about to try and diffuse the tension between them with a stupid joke or a pun, when Satya reach out and intertwine her fingers with his and his mind effectively short circuits. 

“If nothing else,” she whisper, and her words feel like they’re 

_ everything  _

in the silence and the darkness that surround them. 

“I’m happy that you came here. I’m happy that you’re here now.” She clench his hand. He’s struggling just to breathe. “So that a country-mouse like me could meet a city-rat like yourself.”

A strangled noise escape him, and Satya smile up at him, a thin, sad thing. Jamisons mind is spinning again. He wants to tell her that it doesn’t matter where she goes, he’d follow her wherever she needs to be, be with her wherever she’d feel the happiest, if only she’d let him. 

But just as he’s about to take the plunge, say the words that’s been repeating through his head for most of the summer,

( _ I love you,  _

_ I love you, I love you, I love you _ ) 

they’re interrupted. 

“Jamison? Miss Vaswani?” Baptiste calls as he emerge from the forest. Accompanying the doctor is Zenyatta, looking tired and worried out of his mind, and a strange, yellow bird flying above them.    
“Zen?” Jamie try to get to his feet, but stumbles and almost falls off the cliffs edge instead. Satya is there to steady him, right before his little cousin throw himself into his arms. “Hey, what’s wrong?”    
“You can’t just…  _ disappear  _ like that! You imbecile!” He's crying and Jamison pats his head, unsure how to respond. Apparently, he’s still a little drunk, and his body has gone numb from the cold.    
Meanwhile, Baptiste walks and begin looking him over. He’s still wearing his pyjamas. The realization makes Jamison giggle, confused. 

Then he makes a weird, flustered noise, because Satya is there and she’s pulled the scarf from her head to wrap around him. He buries his nose into the fabric and breathes it ( _ her _ ) in. 

“Can you walk?” The doctor asks. 

Jamie only nods. 

“Good, I’m taking you to the infirmary. I wanna keep an eye on you tonight.” 

“I don’t need-”    
“Jamie.” Satya take his hand and squeeze it, effectively shutting him up. “It’s alright. We’ll be here for you, every step of the way.” 

The blonde looks from their entwined hands, to Baptiste and Zenyatta, back to their hands, struggling to wrap his mind around the fact that she’d risk letting others see them touch so intimately. 

“Ok…” 

Baptiste lead the way back to the village. At some point at the way, the bird flies off into the woods and doesn’t return. Once Zenyatta’s stopped crying the kid is absolutely rooted, so Jamison gathers him up on his back (despite the doctors protests) and carries him all the way back to the farmhouse, where they drop him off. 

And throughout the walk, Satya holds onto Jamie’s hand. 

-*-

Jamison wakes up in the infirmary on the following day with hazy memories of how he got there, a terrible headache and a weird scarf around his neck.    
Groaning, he reach for the glass of water that’s on the bedside table. Before he’s been able to reach it, its placed gently in his hand by Baptiste along with some painkillers. 

“Good morning, sunshine.” The doctor beams down at him, provocatively cheerful. “I’ve made some breakfast for you, if you’re not feeling too nauseous. Can I tempt you to some eggs and plantains? After the night you had, you’ll need the salt.” 

“Urrghk,” Jamie groans, downing the glass of water with the pain killers. “what time is it?” 

“10:30 AM.” 

“10:30 AM?! I’m late for wor-” He make an attempt to get up, but is immediately pushed back down by (the still smiling, bloody sadist) Baptiste. 

“You are  **not ** going to work today. You should consider yourself lucky that we didn’t have to pump your stomach yesterday.” 

“Oh, c’mon, doc,” Jamison struggle through the haze in his mind in order to recall the night before. He remembers the dance of the jellyfish with a twist of disappointment. He remembers getting pissed by the cliffs, then being found by Satya, 

(and of course she found him, 

she always does) 

he remembers their conversation, the scarf and why it’s on him now, and the way she’d held his hand. He blush. 

“I didn’t… didn’t get  _ that  _ pissed.” 

“Maybe not. But what would have stopped you from continuing to drink if miss Vaswani and your cousin didn’t find you last night? I talked to mr Rutledge this morning, and he says that drinking has become a self destructive pattern for you. They’re all very worried about you.” 

“Yeah well, maybe they should mind their own bloody business…”

“Look, Jamison.” Baptiste crouch down next to the bed, searching for eye contact. When he finally gets it, he give him a small, concerned smile. “I didn’t bring you in here yesterday because I’m worried about your physical ailments. I’m actually a lot more concerned about your mental health.” 

“Ya and every-bloody-one else, apparently?! Yous should start a club or something.” 

“I know a great therapist in the city. If you’re open to the idea, I’ll give you her number.” 

(And just like that Satya’s voice is ringing through his head again. 

_ “You need… therapy, and possibly medical assistance, from professionals!” _

The dejavu is deafening.

_ “Healing takes time, and self love is a skill that need practice and nurturing.” _

Then he thinks back on what Zenyatta had looked like when he’d left the beach, 

and again when he’d found him by the cliffs. 

He remembers the hug, and how the teen’s shoulders had been shaking, and how tired he’d been when he’d dropped him off at the farm. 

The memory makes a stab of guilt run through him) 

Baptiste is looking at him, something urgent in his eyes, until, finally, Jamison gives in and grunts. 

“I’ll think about it…” 

The doctor pulls himself back up. He takes a moment to stretch out his back, releasing a loud jawn in the process. It suddenly hits Jamison just how exhausted Baptiste is looking. Has he been up all night? At least he’s not in his pyjamas anymore… 

“Great. That’s all I ask for now. But more importantly: how about that breakfast?” 

“I don’t think… I think I’ve been enough of a bother for one day.” 

“Oh no, I insist!” The doctor beam, and begin to leave the room. Then, suddenly, he stops. “Jamison…” 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re in love with miss Vaswani, right?” 

The world grinds to a halt. 

“Hgnhk-” he stutters, rapidly losing all control over his facial features, that seem to be going through the five stages of grief in a matter of seconds. “I-I don’t-” (denial) “how dare you, I?!-” (anger) “...doc, if you’d just…” (bargaining) “I can’t, I…” (depression) “Is it... Is it really that obvious?” (acceptance)

“It is, to anyone with eyes.” Baptiste tease. “I’m sorry, it’s really none of my business, and please keep in mind that I’m not a therapist, so it’s not my place to say this, but I just… I was wondering if, maybe, you’ve been letting your affections towards her distract you from your mental health?”    
Jamison doesn’t know how to answer to that. 

Eventually, Baptiste says something about breakfast and makes his retreat towards the kitchen, leaving Jaime alone with his thoughts. 

Later, he makes his way to Utopaea farm, despite everyone’s protests. 

He knocks on Satya’s door and, before she’s able to get a word in, hand her back the scarf and apologize for the other night. 

“Baptiste gave me the number to some shrink-lady. I’m thinking that I might… no, ya know what? I’m  **definitely ** gonna give her a call. It’s time for me to get my shit together!”    
“That sounds…” she smile at him, and the softness in her eyes makes his legs wobble dangerously. “That sounds wonderful, Jaime. I’m so proud of you.” 

Thinking back to what Baptiste said earlier, he fight against the wave of affection that the sound of his nickname on her lips bring forth in him. 

It’s time for him to listen to what Mako told him once, so long ago now that it feels like a lifetime, and stop hyperfixation on her 

(that doesn’t mean that he’ll stop being any less in love with her, 

it will just be less of an unfortunate accident and more of a choice). 

“Anyway, before I go, I just wanted to say thank ya for all of yer help yesterday. Or, actually just… all of yer help, in general. Yer… ya’ve been a great friend to me, Satya.” 

“I’m… really just glad that I was able to assist. You’ve been a great friend to me in return, Jamie. I couldn’t have… wouldn’t be able to live here. Like this. Not without all of your help.” 

“I…” 

She’s looking at his hand, he realize suddenly. The flesh-and-blood one. 

Before he’s been able to talk himself out of it, he gather hers up with his and squeeze them in that soft, comforting way that she’d held his the other night. 

This time, she’s the one that makes a funny little noise. 

“me too.” he finally breathes. 

-*-

They’re back by the cliffs together, where the night sky has imprinted on Jamison’s naked skin. 

Satya has him in her arms, breathing in the scent of him as she’s trailing her hands down his back. Every time she place a finger on one of the stars, it sizzles and dies underneath her touch, leaving behind a freckle in a pool of milky white skin. 

“It’s beautiful…” she whisper into his ear, relishing at the moan that tumble from his lips. “You’re beautiful.” 

Jamison gather her closer, trailing breathless little kisses down her neck. As he (finally) spread and enter the warm, slick heat of her, Satya sigh 

(feeling complete, knowing that the stars will realign 

and no matter where they are, they’ll find their way back to this

to each other). 

The words come tumbling from her lips as he move inside of her, calm and unhurried, 

“I love you” 

while she trail her hands down his spine, 

(igniting a trail of supernovas with the tip of her fingers)

until they finally leave his skin to tangle in the soft, blonde tresses of his hair. 

She pull his head back, making him moan in the most appetizing way, and kiss a trail up his chest and his neck, to his delectably open mouth,

(lips wet and pink and slightly puffed from kissing)

where she continue to whisper: 

“I love you, love you, love you…” 

When she finally climax, his tongue on her clit and two of his fingers inside of her, it makes the world around them tremble and the remaining stars etched onto Jamison’s skin burst into the air, like fireworks. 

She fall back against him. Takes his hand. And watch the distant giants realign with a deep sense of peace and wonder settling over her.    
Finally, all things are in their place. 

-*-

Satya wake up that morning feeling warm, safe and content. 

Stretching a bit in her bed, she take her time, letting the contents of her dream return to her slowly, by increments. Like waves, lapping at the shore. 

By the time it’s all fallen into place she’s sitting up, wide awake. 

“Oh,” she says to herself, head spinning. “Oh  **fuck** .” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey yo leave me a comment or come scream at me about these losers on tumblr or something!

**Author's Note:**

> OW/Stardew Characters (BEWARE of minor spoiler/and or spelling errors, this has not been beta:d what so ever): https://docs.google.com/document/d/1a_GLQA6TY5GPTOIp4ETommrlDBJmOH9C9PgGDCjaY6w/edit?usp=sharing


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